The branches of the ponderosas droop heavily with the rain.
Now that the apple trees in the orchard have lost most of their leaves, I can see the lights of a house on the next street.
One of the cats is on the back porch, watching the night. The other is curled sleeping behind my chair.
I hear the water dripping from the eaves and the low rumble of air in the ductwork.
There will be things to do today.
I take refuge in the commonplace and in the things of the world.
Now, I am wondering how long my denial of impending disaster can be sustained.