November 11th, 2005

the_hat

Off

Every time I go out on the front porch, I can hear what sounds like water dripping, but I can't pinpoint the spot th sound is coming from, and I can't see any wetness anywhere. It's driving me batty. The rain ended long ago, so there shouldn't be anything left to drip. It's phantom water! I have a vassergeist! Also, I've still seen no fireballs!

Again tonight, I've gone looking for something on teh Internets and fetched up instead at a web site featuring classic comics and cartoons. This time it's a weblog called Beyond Belief. There is also a link from there to a related site, Barnacle Press, which has even more comics. I was very pleased to find an entire page of Peter Arno Cartoons originally published in The New Yorker. Peter Arno's stuff has delighted me since I was much too young to get most of his jokes. Some I still don't get, but I don't care. Some of his cartoons don't actually have jokes, in fact. Some are just little bits of subtle snark, some are archly witty, and some are more sad than anything else, though even with those, the drawings always make me smile.

Sun's up again. I keep thinking it's Saturday. Maybe because it's a holiday. Happy Armistice Day.

I also keep thinking I've forgotten something. Oh, well.
franz_marc_foxes

Stuffed

The moon-saturated clouds deliver a smattering of raindrops just as a flock of geese fly over the yard. For a moment, I am horrified at the thought that I have just been struck by goose drops, but the drops continue to fall for several minutes after the geese have gone. It was only rain. Still, there's that possibility.... No, I won't think about it. (Bird flu!) The rain is insufficient to dampen the ground, the clouds part, and the gibbous moon is revealed. There will probably be no storm tonight, and I will be able to continue shivering and scanning the sky for fireballs.

The whole day was partly cloudy, and we were treated to one of the most colorful sunsets yet this year. The trees are reaching their peak of color, too. In only a few days, the walnut tree has gone from green to a dozen shades of yellow, gold and brown. Across the street, the dogwoods are now a brilliant, deep red. The oaks have lost more than half their foliage, and what remains is mostly a rich golden brown. The rapidly yellowing mulberry leaves now drop to the lawn in increasing numbers. Just when the supply of daylight grows short, the falling leaves bring more work. But I enjoy the sound of rakes in the dusk. It's a fair trade.

Night is scented with wood smoke which (as a result of holiday-related associations, I suppose) makes me think of pumpkin pies. Pumpkin pies, in turn, make me think of pecan pies, which make me think of pralines, which make me think of sweet port served with cheese and nuts, which makes me wonder why I'm thinking about food. I had a huge baked potato with dinner, and I'm nothing remotely resembling hungry. Sugar, though.... It's a good thing there's nothing for dessert in the house. This is surely one of those moments when I'd be foolish enough to eat it.