A bit of wind is trying to re-carpet the freshly raked lawn with leaves. Already, I hear the crunching of pine needles underfoot when I walk on the driveway, swept clean just last evening. There is no keeping up with the trees this time of year. I do like the look of the street when it is paved in brown and gold, though. It looks all warm and shaggy, as if wearing a big sweater. I'm wearing a big sweater right now, myself. I'd like to be drinking tea, too, but it's too near bedtime for that. I just sit here poking the keys with my half-numbed fingers, which would feel so much better if I could wrap them around a hot teacup. The good news is that the virus appears to be vanquished, or nearly so. If I don't turn the heat up, it won't remain so, though. Say goodnight, Sluggo.