Another morning of dense fog, the cloud-weight so heavy that it's falling from the maples like false rain.

Today is my little sister's birthday, and I'm feeling melancholy about her being so far away in Vermont, where I haven't set foot since last winter.

Oh well. No point in bemoaning what we're all suffering through. I have a bright, clean kitchen, and the most beautiful zinnias in town, and a version of employment, and housemates who like my cooking, and a bossy, handsome cat, and as many books as a small-town library.

The shadow of the election is unnerving, though. More than unnerving: Terrifying. Every morning I have to figure out again, and yet again, and yet again, how to manage the day's dose of dread.