Harvest sounds omnipresent, combines or harvesters or whatever that equipment's called – the big things that take over the whole road –, working through the night: a comfort, in its way: the closest I find here to soothing industrial white noise.

(When I came back here for my second visit after moving to Boston all those lifetimes ago, I brought a recording of city noise: it was too quiet for me to sleep in my old room. Fortunately, in this life-iteration, my wife had always slept to a fan, so I've found an approximation and a happy medium.)

I've started a stack of books that need zettel-processing on The Table. Making it a thing for when the words aren't coming and I need something useful with which to occupy my hands and (what passes for ) my brain.

Fairly certain that last night's yard-bunny made their escape following the terror-inducing Morkie and Jorkie encounter at pre-bed piss'n'shit time...

The day awaits.