The last day of August here in Old Blighty and the only sunshine to be seen is courtesy of the sunflowers gleaming brightly against the dull and cloudy skies.
But our meteorological woes are as nothing compared to those of our friends across the Big Pond, and to complain of a little greyness about the gills is pure frivolity.
Today I am thinking of Karen in Vermont as she sits and surveys the wasted scene which surrounds her little patch of earth which is so precious to her. Maybe you could go over and offer her a few words of comfort to fortify her soul - a small thing, but perhaps a little good deed to start the day is no bad thing for any of us.
A wiser soul than I once wrote that 'the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts' which make 'things ... not so ill with you and me as they might have been'.
And as a small and possibly cheering postscript, I did try to photograph the sparrows clustered eagerly around the sunflower seed heads, pecking away enthusiastically, but alas my tread is too heavy, my camera too lightweight, and the presence of my Little Stranger (to whom small, fluffy and fluttery means tasty morsel) by my side had a certain hampering effect.