While I certainly lack the aural acuity of many of the earth's other creatures, my hearing was adequate to discern a few minutes ago the passage of yet another flock of migrating geese winging north, and I briefly glimpsed them, flying barely above treetop height in the gray (though soon to be bright) morning light. I don't recall hearing them leave so late in the year before. Perhaps they found themselves unable to abandon the pleasures of the fields and marshes of California, like guests who linger too long at an enjoyable party. Now, driven out at last by a weary host who has removed the beverages and turned up the thermostat to a level certain to cause great discomfort, they make their way home, still inebriated. They certainly sounded to me as though they were drunk as they passed overhead, veering in their flight and honking loudly. Don't be surprised if you see them in the headlines: "Geese Crash Into Mountainside; Eleven Die in Horrible Tragedy."
Enough. I don't think it will get any cooler, so I might as well try to get to sleep before it gets any warmer.
Huge tick on my window screen! I'll probably have bad dreams about it.