Weather Coming.

What's with the dog? I asked AMR, first thing.

I think she knows the weather's changed, she said.

Which means, friends and fans of morning fog and chilly sunrise through the downhill mouse's walnut trees, that if AMR knows the dog knows the season's changed, then AMR, too, knows the season's changed, which means it's not just me up at 5 a.m. so I can come sprinting down the stairs to see if I really did get the Panasonic receiver/cassette/turntable that would henceforth allow me to record, from the radio, almost the entirety of Cutting Crew's I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight (minus some of that opening ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah, which you always miss since you can't hit record until after the DJ cuts out)—it's everybody. It's fall. It came. Somehow or other, it came, just the same.

And, lo! Hast thou seen the forecast for Wednesday and Thursday and Friday? That's a new star rising in the east, if I've ever seen one. For unto you is born this day in the city of Greensboro an autumn, which is fall for sure. And a little free winter preview, it looks like. Autumn: Now with 10% more forty-degree rain.

So. To recap: today's pretty. Once we burn this fog off, you should probably go outside and play. For the rest of the week, though, you're going to want somebody to take you to the bus stop and either stand there and endure it with you, or, in certain circumstances, drive you, and let you sit in the warm stuffy car until the bus comes. Then you can make a run for it, squeak your way down the center aisle, find somewhere good to sit, and try to hang on until lunch—or until whatever it is that comes next.

The weather's changed. I've been up a long time, drinking coffee. That's what you do.