Outside, Outside.

The weather stops for no man, but I owe the book by Monday, so let's have a gentleperson's agreement, shall we, Weatherheads? Today, when it is so cripplingly beautiful that even the runt of the finch litter, Matthew (we named them), has fledged, let's say that you should be outside, determining the forecast on your own. Foreseeable difficulties: you may get a sunburn; you may have to turn your chair into or away from the glare, depending; you may have to drink coffee and a cold beer, possibly in quicker succession than is advisable.

Tomorrow there will be storms. Probably. If there are, then we here at ANYLF will do our damned level best to speak about them, perhaps even before they arrive. For now, though, friends and fans of deadline, back to the grindstone.