The last day of summer turned gray and wet. No sunbeams penetrated the dense clouds, but only a diffuse light, almost wintry. A bit of red has begun to show on the dogwood leaves, though, which brought the day some color. I did nothing worth mentioning. I have grown more sluggish lately. Not even a splendid gray day arouses me from my torpor. I'm dull to the point of being in danger of yawning myself to death. Ignore me.