Various Religion.

The heavy smoke from the chimney—I've laid better fires; usually that thing's running pretty clear by now—says the wind is from the south and west. So even though that low did in fact set up off the coast and may be bringing the beaches and Outer Banks some showers today, here on the Piedmont we're in the warmup they said was coming: through the upper forties this afternoon, and into the fifties and maybe sixties as we round out the weekend. In other words: It was a two-hat two-block walk to the Toad's place of three-days-a-week business this morning, but you could tell he'd only need a jacket on the way back. Score another one for the local fancies.

If today goes badly, then I'll be in the back corner of the yard chewing on fenceposts—but if all goes well, I'll be close enough to printing a draft I can nibble at the edges of that, instead.

Do you want to know about the buds on the blueberry bushes? The redness of the ends of the cherry tree branches? The perceptibly slight greening of the lawns? The difference in the angle of the sun through the corner windows of the building? The long morning shadows on the back porch? The second kind of daffodil breaking through the soil? The new thought that I may yet have enough in that single half-cord of lumber to carry me through the winter? No. Let's not speak of those things just yet, lest we bring sleet down as punishment for non-seasonal thinking. It is February, after all. We're allowed to hope, but not to gloat or covet. If you do set a table, leave a spot for Elijah.