The guy outside is letting his motorcycle run for an hour before he drives it away. Maybe he likes the vibrations. This is starting out as stream-of-consciousness ramblings, but may gel into something a little more coherent or cohesive later. There may even be music reviews. Maybe not. I'm currently listening to Tor Lundval's "The Mist" and wishing autumn were here. I can't listen to him and not think of the changing seasons. There is a certain windy solitude to his music, like walking home along a country road at twilight, with the last dull orange of sunlight retreating across the waving fields. There is a harvest moon just clearing the horizon, its edges made indistinct by an atmosphere filled with woodsmoke from countless chimneys. Winter approaches, and people come closer together where they can.