Crisp air arrived a day sooner than I expected. The dogwood leaves flickered bright reflections as an afternoon breeze made them chatter. More stolid, the oak leaves barely stirred, except at the treetops where the wind was more intense. All the smoke has cleared, letting brilliant autumn sunshine warm the pavements even as the air remained cool. It might be expected that such a day would bring me a burst of energy, but it has instead pulled me into a condition of near languor, filled with reveries. Nightfall has gathered clouds, and offers the promise of rain. Still, I am unmoved by any sense of urgency, and allow my mind to drift, indulging in vague sentiment provoked by nostalgic thoughts. All are so insubstantial as to provide no purchase for words. I wander among vapors which pretend to be images, as though I slept and dreamed of dreams.