The only thing that redeems a gray autumn day in Baltimore is the saturated, earthy red of the not-yet-dropped leaves.  They vibrate against the featureless clouds that lower the sky to a level nearly claustrophobic in its closeness and closedness.  If not for those trees, walking home from work in a wind-whipped, chill drizzle this afternoon would have been a misery. 

I'm hoping this weather breaks before the morning, because I'm not sure I'm willing to brave it again, even for almost unbearably wholesome satisfaction that comes from starting my weekend with a trip to the local farmer's market.  Even someone at the market does usually have a huge pot of spiced apple cider steaming away in a corner of their booth, radiating heat, cinnamon and cloves.  If this rain holds until morning, even the supplemental lure of a stop at the Book Thing might not be sufficient to drag me out of bed (especially since the room in which some of my favorite sections are housed smells of cat pee, and who wants to deal with that ever, let alone on a raw November day?), much as I love free books, and want to get the last bag of no-longer-wanted books out of my back room. After all, I have to make room for my soon-to-be started new bag of no-longer-wanted books to give to the Book Thing.