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The year winds down.

Oh, it might be 95 out there, and due to stay that hot for the next couple days, but you can’t fool me and you can’t fool the crickets. My happy time of year is bracketed by the frogs in the spring, heralding long, warm days, and then the crickets in the late summer/early fall, chirping incessantly about the oncoming cold.

Other signs of fall: the back of Rooney Lee’s neck is going bald again; Zille is engaged in her end of season shed (OH MY GOD THE HAIR); and some days the air conditioning hardly runs at all. The first half of my morning commute is in the dark, now, and it’s pretty well dark when I go to bed at 2000 instead of being maddeningly bright.

The tulip poplars have started to show the occasional gold leaf, although all the other trees remain resolutely green, and the fall flowers have started showing up on roadsides and in ditches, sprays of yellow and white that are probably something to which I am deathly allergic.

Still, there’s four months to go in the year, and probably one more litter of kittens. Yee haw.

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