Not Back.

In its own way, summer returns, which makes sense, somehow, in this half-busted year. The new boots no longer hurt. The lawn was mowed, passive-voicedly, out in front of some late-evening rain. It's not yet midnight and the morning coffee's made—and waiting. The dishwasher's going. The Toad sleeps. The novel does what it does.

And let's celebrate the weekend's rain, inches and inches, dramatically underforecast by the forecast. We've been out of practice. We've spoken of ourselves in the plural first, for one thing, and may yet do it again. For another thing, it's humid. Nearly October and still we run the A/C hard. We're not saying the forecast is back. All we're saying is that fall's out there, somewhere, but not quite here yet in 2740X. That's all. That and a mowed lawn might for now be just enough.