I'm writing this during a lovely, cozy, stormy afternoon, which looks as though it will get even stormier.
This week's column will be science-heavy, complete with long words.
Don't forget about the Harvest Festival on Saturday, Oct. 16 at the Agricultural Hall. It starts at 10 a.m. and goes until 3 p.m. Admission is free.
There is a moment almost every year when I'm out in the middle of the woods, wearing brown, and it dawns on me that it's hunting season.
There is no need to rhapsodize about the weather, which sings for itself.
Thanks go out to those who made possible the roses tumbling over the white fence in front of the Congregational Church; the mums on the porch of the Ag Hall; and especially the gourd hanging at the end of Old Courthouse Road.
September is a jar of honey on a windowsill, a yellow Labrador lolling on the grass, a sun-kissed stillness before winter.
How is it that Labor Day weekend is already upon us? There is a strange acceleration of time after the Ag Fair.
There is nothing to say about Henri except that we went into the weekend nicely stocked, which meant no more trips to the grocery store for several days, and that is happiness.
