Summer Ends.

Seen yesterday, on 70, out nearer to J. Crew U. than to here, but just barely in Guilford County, one presumes, all the same: the Eastern Guilford High School marching band and flag corps, resplendent and in full uniform, performing out front of Bojangles, right up against the highway. On the highway side of the split-rail fence, that is, and not the Bojangles side. There were balloons. There was a banner. I had the windows down, but couldn't quite hear—the truck was a little oil-thirsty and was making a bit of a metal-on-metal sound. That's now resolved, but I was sadly unable to hear the metal-on-metal of the EGHS Marching Whatevers.

Every time I see a kid standing in the heat of the sun wearing a hat with a giant fake feather in it, it brings back memories.

Had the police out yesterday to investigate the hum. "Yeah, I hear it," the officer said. We stood there on my back porch. He was shiny—shiny shoes, shiny glasses, shiny pistol, shiny stick to hit me with, shiny pad on which he made a note or two about the hum. And the hum called me back yesterday morning, too: they also can hear it, will get somebody on it "as soon as they can." Which I expect means sometime during the next election cycle. Which I expect means I shall soon be in need of shoving my head into the spinning blades of the mower in order to dehum my interior landscape.

Imagine the dog barking while I was trying to explain to the officer about my noise complaint.

Cloudy. The weather's of late been trying to make us believe it's time for flannel. It is not. But today is the autumnal equinox, so, you know, thanks, summer, for stopping by. It was good to see you. We should do this more often. Call us when you get home to let us know you made it safely, OK? Take care. Tell everybody we said hello.