O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odors plain and hill: Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!

That's Shelley's, not mine. There's more but I didn't want to write all of it. It seemed kind of fitting; I guess because summer's really gone now, and it's nearly October and the way everyone talks about that makes it seem kind of frightening. Ghosts and graves. It makes sense in a way, since Halloween is coming, too. I'm excited about it even if it's dangerous. But maybe we'll be lucky, and it won't be too bad. The poem is hopeful too; if only because winter won't last forever.

I don't really see the point of worrying when we can't know what's coming. I was talking to Claire about optimists and pessimists, and really I think I'd rather be neither-- I'd rather be happy as long as I can and take things as they come.

This all just reminds me that we need to get started on the mystery soon, if we plan to perform it end of next month... I really don't know where the time goes. Maybe it's just that I've been distracted. It's been weeks since I said anything on this, though I guess I've been talking to plenty of people even if I have nothing to say. I'm not a total hermit. I hope.