Kurt wrote a morning verse about the wind today. I guess we're getting that wind here now.

This afternoon, here in Baltimore, the wind is blowing so hard my front door has opened for it to come in about a half-dozen times so far, and the trees are bowing to each other like they're at a squaredance. I'm watching the 60-foot sycamore out my office window, noting the direction of the wind and calculating the direction the boughs will fall if they snap off in the gusts. The wind doesn't so much whistle past my window as much as it moans, like tearing cloth.

The flapper in the skylight to our bathroom is doing its best imitation of Tito Puente.

I was considering a bike ride today, since the rain put me off yesterday. But there's no way; I'd end up in Delaware.