Last night I felt like I dropped ten pounds over the course of my band's three-hour show. No wonder Mick Jagger is still so skinny. By the end of the gig the fingers of my bow hand had gone numb, and the callouses on my left fingertips had blackened and split. Stringed instruments are cruel taskmasters. But the crowd was laughing and cheering and dancing and calling for encores, so the hand damage was all worthwhile. There's nothing like playing fast music for a happy crowd.

I drove home through thick fog, split by occasional flashes of lightning. And when I got here, Tom and Ruckus were asleep together on the couch. It was a good feeling to know that the house had a heartbeat.

Now, in this late October darkness, I am sitting in my kitchen with the window wide open. The air pours in, heavy and sweet with rain. Another gift.