Mild Night.

A trace: I think we were meant to have more than that, but largely what was to be had was the spitting trace we picked up between 7 and 11ish, the tail of a front wrung dry as it crossed us here. Not much to be said for it other than that, other than dense cloud cover and enough humidity to confuse, to convince you it was warm out there, or warmer, anyway, than it had been. I expect we''ll stay above freezing tonight. The rest of the week, though, takes us back once more to the 40s and 20s, back into the persistent New England winter that's set in here over the past month or six weeks or some odd and so forth. It's cold. It has been cold. It's going to be cold. Goddamn Blue Tick Beagle Paul leaves his Blue Tick beagles out in it. In here, the aging dog sleeps in comfort on the sofa, on her bed, on ours, or, as now, on her front right paw, waiting for me to shut the hell up and go to bed, which is what's left to do tonight, so: Crack a window an inch or so, if you're still awake to do it. Tonight's a mild night by comparison. Rest of the week: hunker down.

Little hint of snow in the forecast for Saturday. No promises from these quarters, but I will say that I think that'd be lovely.