Freeze Warning.

Well, weatherers. A freeze warning for the 2740Xers among you, plus Ida down in the Gulf—what more could you want, come early November? Does that last comma belong in that last sentence? Hard to say, and no matter: This is all of it, all the weather, right here, I do believe. I'm just back from a second consecutive late-night dogwalk, a thing that's starting to feel regular, necessary, and my hands hurt from the cold. There's raking that needs doing. The neighborhood smells of fireplaces. Upstairs, bedded down, one wants for all the covers. The animals are sleeping in tight curls. Orion is back. This may be the last night for the ferns and the impatiens. This is the weather that makes it simple to dream about tomorrow's coffee pot. This is where the kid comes in your office for her 1:30 appointment and says, I know you worship at the altar of cold weather. Yes, KT, I do, and that's at least a half a letter grade for noticing, standards and rigor be damned. I am not proud, or fair.

Hey, winter edging in. That'll be fine.