Before we get all tawny as the classis coat of autumn tends to convert into these days, we are still enjoying the last of the transitional hues against the remaining greens even under ill-omened skies. The rain never came, a little pitter without the patter. Perhaps it came later. We were sleeping. Dreaming and reliving moments of the day, but mostly dreaming. Blessed are the meek who scratch in the dirt wearing a smile; they shall inherit it and all its grace. Blessed are the illumined ones who walk on the dirt spreading their light, they know this is not the final good-bye.