Season Turns.

It's coming on all at once, is what it is—the maples yellowing, the whatever-elses yellowing—walnuts? pecans? birches? Not the oaks. The oaks come later. But those trees that yellow are right on the verge of going yellow, and what tends to be a slow, warm burn around these parts is coming on in a much more seasonal way, cool, not cold, not chilly, not much other than yellow, really, and what looked like it could be fall a week ago looks like more than could now, looks like is.

What now? Maybe a late wee something on the porch. Maybe a late last inning in here with AMR as she grades some late papers. Maybe none of that: maybe an early night to bed.

And all we do is try to slide through to tomorrow morning.