I feel like a farmer, squinting at the clouds and perusing the weather forecast. For the farmer a livelihood is at stake; for me I just don't want to be bothered with watering the lawn just yet.

Was reading last night on the sippin' porch when all the lights went out; on the porch, inside the house, streetlights and all. Local blackout!

We are just over the other side of Mt Tabor and so can't see downtown directly, but above the trees the glow off the clouds suggests that all office buildings are still fully lit.

For some idiots a blackout is an occasion for lighting firecrackers and cackling inanely. Better than looting, I suppose.

The electricity going out brings a few folks out, to confirm the extent, to ask to borrow a phone, perhaps just to take advantage of an opportunity for sociability.

Outside the morons and the curious, the rest sleep; I took Mrs The Fyd's cell phone up to her and woke her up to let her know she needed to set the alarm on the phone. Then I finished my nightly ablutions in the dark, trying not to trip over the stealthy dark shadows of the cats underfoot.

It still hadn't begun to rain, despite the promise of the smell of the wind and the few drops that had fallen, teasingly, that evening.