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Summer is over

Summer is over. With a vengeance. Fine with me. I hate summer. I long for the crispness of autumn, with it’s explosion of colors. The fireplace pilot-light has been lit. Those late nights, when the house is perfectly quiet and I’m warmed by the fire and a good book (or maybe a good game)…..man….nothing like it.

But now I’m hearing they’re calling for 2 inches of snow on Friday. This is a bit much even for me. The colors I want are red and brown and yellow. Not white. I’m still cutting my grass. I don’t want to break out the shovel. But so it goes. Up and down and ’round and ’round until you’re fortunate enough to be pointed in the right direction. Some dive-bomb into the ground thinking the highway goes on forever. Poor saps.

In the meantime, “Pete Townshend’s Ghost” roles merrily along, with or without me apparently. Still awaiting that final bolt of inspiration that’ll allow me to wrap this sucker up.

Watched my daughter’s basketball team get devoured by 30 points last night. Not good for the creative process.

In a bit…


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