Saturday. 7:07 a.m. 64 degrees. Wind from the northwest at 7 mph. Out on the porch. Barefoot and in my pajamas but with my barn coat over them. A few geese honking overhead. Clouds on the move, heading east, low, white cotton puff balls but with rags and tatters of dark silver, the color I used to use for unconvincing chrome on model cars and airplanes. The breeze bouncing the tree branches just before I came out here had stopped for a while but is picking up again with a hiss. A robin, startled out of the holly bushes, flies at an angle into the window, glances off the glass, and flies off, apparently unharmed.