October

The trees and shrubs in frantic agitation. For a moment a whole flock of starlings is blown backwards by a specially strong gust, all of them flapping mightily, all shoved tailward. Then they get the better of it , by climbing up out of the strongest current of the wind, and labor forward to the trees they're aiming for, while the leaves swirl through them, flying in the opposite direction. They arrive, subdued for their kind, carefully establishing a good grip on the branches, barely muttering to each other, like parachutists checking over their equipment.

The traffic lights sway on Sandy Boulevard. A single crow dares the wind also, cocky as ever, tacking port and starboard, and finally dropping almost to the ground to make his windward progress, going well beyond his target telephone wire. Then he lets the wind sweep him up and back -- a sudden swipe of motion, almost too rapid for the eye -- and there he is, having snagged the wire, bobbing back and forth, the wind rucking up his feathers: insouciant, full of himself. In a moment he's on his way again, leaving the impression, as crows often do, that he did it just to prove he could.

I rode here to Tosi's in the rain this morning, as an experiment. The gloves may do, even though they're not waterproof. The rain pants, flimsy as they are, kept my jeans dry, so that's all right. I'll definitely need booties or something to keep my feet dry, though. And a sweatshirt to go under my rain jacket.

The wind and the rain, the deep breathing of this living sky: I am in love. So grateful for this breakfast, and for this day.