Ambiguous clouds continue to drift, intermittently obscuring patches of stars, but they have avoided the east, where the crescent moon rose clear and bright, turning Orion dim. Delightfully cool, the air bestirs itself now and then, coaxing soft sighs from the pines. It has been quiet tonight. If deer came by, I missed them. The only sounds I've heard since the crickets fell silent are those made by the breeze-blown trees, and a couple of falling acorns. The acorns will soon be falling more frequently. Yesterday morning I noticed that a few of the oaks have already begin to show brown patches among their dark green leaves. I eagerly anticipate the coming day when the air of noon will be as crisp as early morning is now.
It looks as though New Orleans might remain lucky, and its notorious fleshpots may yet survive long enough that I will eventually get a chance to visit them. Maybe there is a Devil after all.