Large L.

Nicole seems to be here—or whatever this is coming up out of the Caribbean and Florida. Some storm that nearly pulled together. Tropical Depression Sixteen. A big red L. What it means for us lucky souls here on the Piedmont: rain. Probably a little more than initially forecast. And this is not even technically that. This is our cold front snagging the very top of the big red L and getting things cranked up early:


See there? The low, as I understand it, is still south of Florida proper. The low is still headed our way, even though it's already here. What else this means for us selfsame lucky souls: we are not supposed to break seventy today. An optimistic man would try a bit of flannel. An optimistic man would brew a little more coffee. An optimistic man would look at these temps and this rain and dream weekend dreams of aeration and overseeding. An optimistic man would also have been sitting at his kitchen table since quarter of eight, waiting for the city and the warlock electrician, but hey. Let's not get greedy. Or hopeful. Or inspected.

It's been drizzling all morning, and it now at nine-thirty is darker out there and raining in earnest. The truck windows have been down this whole time, it now occurs to me. The Toad has slept in this whole time. Probably now would be a good time to spend this whole time doing things like drying out the vehicle, waking up the boy, getting things fed and ready, etcetera and amen. But first, another cup of coffee. First, a little more rain.