(no subject)

[katallison]

I may have said it a year ago, or two years, at this time, but it bears repeating -- the sound of sleet rattling on dead leaves, in the blustery chill night, is, for any good Minnesotan, the leitmotif signalling that winter is lurking in the wings and readying itself to take the stage.

Shut the windows and latch 'em tight, turn on the furnace and dig out the flannels. We won't see the 60-plus days again until April, a half-year from now.