Lots of moisture.

Rather heavy rain much of last night and well into mid-morning. After that, chilly drizzle. High in the mid-forties. The new berry plants have been well watered. The dogs and us? Mostly inside catching up on things, doing a little computer work, and a bit of reading. Go Dog Go.

It looks like the rain is moving toward Cleveland, but we can hope the Cubs find it refreshing after last night's washout. Snow in the forecast for Manitoulin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The Bluet"
by James Schuyler

And is it stamina
that unseasonably freaks
forth a bluet, a
Quaker lady, by
the lake? So small,
a drop of sky that
splashed and held,
four-petaled, creamy
in its throat. The woods
around were brown,
the air crisp as a
Carr's table water
biscuit and smelt of
cider. There were frost
apples on the trees in
the field below the house.
The pond was still, then
broke into a ripple.
The hills, the leaves that
have not yet fallen
are deep and oriental
rug colors. Brown leaves
in the woods set off
gray trunks of trees.
But that bluet was
the focus of it all: last
spring, next spring, what
does it matter? Unexpected
as a tear when someone
reads a poem you wrote
for him: 'It's this line
here.' That bluet breaks
me up, tiny spring flower
late, late in dour October.

Also:

October is a state of mind.