Chilly Night.

It's not so cold that when you step out onto the back porch to see how cold it is you think winter's set in, but it's certainly chilly, certainly the kind of night where if you were to walk the dog, you'd want an extra layer. Maybe your grandfather's ancient flannel. Maybe a wee dram. It's chilly, is what it is. It's a weather. It's definitively warmer in than out. On a night like this one appreciates central heat, a blanket, a good pair of socks. Not your best pair of socks, surely, but a good one.

Leaf raking. Sunshine. Warm lunch hours and jacketed nights. That's what's in store. The dog in all her fuzzy glory, if I'm allowed to say that. All I know is that there's a lot of white fur starting to turn up around here.

Fucking Yankees.