right. right. turn off the lights. there’s a smell in the air. that cold sigh is coming in from the north. the mountains breathe away your warmth, the lakes fall silent, everything sits still for silence and waits. like breathing quietly anticipating the storm. we know it’s coming..

mow your lawn, rake your leaves, run for the thunder, hide from the hail. raise your glass!

good luck with your tomato plants, I’m counting days.