A few acorns are finally falling. I hear them smack the metal roof of the garage beyond my back fence. The tree overhanging that roof always seems to get the most acorns, good years or bad. When they fall at night the sound of them hitting the roof shatters the silence, and that silence is greater now that the cicadas have ceased their nightly noise. The reports of the acorns are like gunshots, making me nostalgic for Southern California.
Halloween tomorrow. There will probably be few kids out, unless the rain lets up in the evening. I foresee nearly empty streets, with a few bedraggled ghosts.