Good Book.

I keep thinking last fire of the season, and then we keep getting one more half-forecast day of chilly gray fire weather. This morning's result was free and free: We got close to our forecast high by the time 5:00 rolled around, but through the Toad's nap we were cold, drizzly and showery, log after log into the stove, and I only had to open the windows there at the end. Termites in the shed means I'm happy to burn logs off the woodpile here at the desperate tail end of the season. Happy, too, to sit out there and read and not write: draft off to the fancies; time here to burn, so to speak. And a book I may like, after I'd quit liking books, quit liking liking, even. More on this at a later date. For now: Rain overnight? Warmer? Hard to tell what season this is, so hard to make any kind of forecast. I rolled the windows up on the truck. Let's call that a hunch.