As the cold days approach I am reminded how the time has passed and how these pages have gone unattended. I pick the tool up again to scribe what is not important, other than to keep the hand warm and accustomed to the this tool. On this second day of November, I am reminded of warmer, newer, and possibly better days. Nostalgic days. Days that may only be remembered in imaginary terms and may have not been the ways I remember. I catch myself and say that those days will never be as good as what is to come. What is not yet seen. Those days of tomorrow; these days of the present, are the best days! They are mysterious and wonderful for that.