The smoke from the fires in Tennessee, a very odd Sate of the Union a little south of here, has tinged the air with something that might not be a fragrance but is definitely a particulate that irritates the upper respiratory mechanisms. Last night I woke myself snoring, which was quite a pleasant experience because recently I have come to doubt my ability to actually spend any part of the nighttime hours sleeping.
The big question of course might well be, what on earth was your delicate
correspondent doing in the outdoors in the middle part of November? The answer,
he was engaged in manly work, the sort of thing boys do to impress girls, and
generally remind all things bright and beautiful that we boys are not just
winter ornamentals who turn up for supper. There is just the one giant post hole
left to dig, and just the one giant post to plant.