Snatching a few minutes from whatever it is that has been eating my time, I will first note that it was cloudy all day, today. It was one of those irresistibly romantic grey days when streaks of steel-blue and silver light would appear in the distance, and the path of the sun could be traced by the burnished spot it created in the clouds. The unaccustomed bursts of bright color from prematurely blooming plants lent an extra energy to the scene. I only managed a brief walk, but the cool air was invigorating, especially as it carried the pungent scent of spurge laurel in stronger and more frequent drifts than I have ever before sensed here. Yet, still no drop of rain has fallen. With night, the clouds have once again begun to evaporate, and the gibbous moon, at first burning only a bright node through the vapors, now shines clear in the center of a huge circle of illuminated cloud which reminds me of an immense smoke ring. Hoagy Carmichael would probably write a song about it. I have no time.