Quiet Day.

Upper sixties, and reaching for the low seventies. Warm in the sun. A breeze. The sure smell of fall. A few leaves starting to accumulate along the curbs. Two big ripe tomatoes on the vine, and dozens of ripe heirloom cherry tomatoes right next to them. The daycare kids shrieking in their secret language.

And no hum.

It'll be back, surely. Let's not make any broad proclamation. Let's not say anything, in fact, except that the kitchen window is wide open to the briefly perfect world.