Back Again.

Sunday morning. Windows open, good coffee, radio on, Toad shrieking and smiling and shrieking. We're at the checklist phase of the writing shed reno: caulk this, paint that corner. Church bells ringing back there. An idea about getting some sauce tomatoes from the big market later on. I keep falling away from the forecast. In my defense, if there is a defense, we quit having weather for three weeks. It was hot and dry. Sometimes it was less hot and still dry. Yesterday it rained, though, and last night it rained, too, and this morning arrives wiped clean and cool and so sharply and obviously Septembered that it's hard not to say so, to report live from the scene, to say that it is what it is, which seems a lot like autumn.

I had ideas about returning full-time to all this come the vernal equinox, but that's too official, runs counter to the spirit of the project. Rather, let's say this: it's been sliding towards fall. It'll be hot again, will break our hearts, and maybe soon. Today, even, isn't likely to be cool all the way through. Still. Today's a day where you want to make the same promise you've been making: that you'll be better about doing the things you want to do.