We barely saw the sun at all today. Yesterday started with fog, but it burned away well before noon. Today the clouds grew thicker as the day wore on, and the breeze carried the scent of a storm. By mid afternoon the treetops rustled loudly and the high branches shook.

One lone ray of light cast long shadows on the ground late in the day, then blinked out. It might have been the last poor attempt of Indian summer to hold on, maybe even to roar back to life. I hope it tries again before giving up for good.

Winter's stay will be long enough. An arrival this early would make it an even more unwelcome guest. I can see November from here, but March is too far away to make out. One last surge of October warmth, before it trickles away. Please?

Suddenly I'm feeling nostalgic. Remember how warm it was Tuesday? Ah, those were the days. Day. It's as if it were only yesterday. Or possibly the day before.

Sweet memory and bright hope. That's all we have, if we use too much of today bemoaning what is and fearing what might be. A bad habit that, one to avoid. Helps if you can see it coming, but it's sneaky. It's harder to dodge on days that are sleepy and sad.

I'm appalled, nearly stunned, that I had to pull on a sweatshirt on the tenth day of the tenth month. I have an electric blanket and I'm not afraid to use it. Not quite ready to light up the furnace yet, though.

I spent most of the day hacking and sneezing and cursing and growling. Changes in the weather don't affect the trick knee I got at the hands of a ninth grade bully, or the baby finger I broke on Sears' heavy entry doors. These dismal days get me in the throat and the nose and all those vacant passages in my head. One good thing: it suppresses my appetite as effectively as the tension of a close playoff game.