Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

There is a charter captain who comes up the river past our house every morning at 6:30 a.m., rain or shine, summer or winter. We could set a clock by him. In the dark of winter, it’s eerie to see nothing but two boat lights, one white and the other green, glide steadily past our bedroom window. It makes me think Martians have come to fish.

Tonight we turn our clocks back. This has special significance for what is called Michiana, because Michigan turns its clocks ahead in the summer, while Indiana doesn’t. Consequently, those of us who live close to the state line live in two times zones half of the year. Case in point: In summer, planes leaving from the South Bend, Indiana, Regional Airport at 6 a.m. are really leaving at 7 a.m. where I live. But in winter, it’s 6 a.m. at my home too. Forgetting this idiosyncracy can make air travel problematic.

Tomorrow the trick-or-treaters emerge from hiding for their annual visit to our neighborhood. Usually Earl and I plan to be away, but this year we’re staying home and passing out the traditional candy. We must be mellowing in our old age.

Birds don’t come around much anymore. I filled the hummingbird feeder a few days ago, but the only creatures it has attracted are a couple bees.

There’s supposed to be great winds tonight, and everybody in my neighborhood is excited. We’re tired of leaves everywhere and hope that some heavy wind will blow the remaining ones from our trees so that we can get on with the final clean-up.