A haze of thin, curdled cloud is dimming the evening stars. The days are once again heating up, and tonight is unlikely to bring a reprise of last night's pleasantly chilly freshness. Mourning the recent winds, I let the still and sultry air pull me into its lassitude. Breathing it is a chore, so heavy is it with the weedy pollen of the season. My brain is like that air, sluggish and dense, and buzzing with thoughts as monotonous as the katydid's chirr. Tomorrow will be hotter still. The blankets I put on my bed today I will return to the closet. September is a moody month, April's evil twin.