Winds howlin'.

The Everglades are a vast subtropical wetland that behaves like a giant sponge, soaking up floodwaters and filling an underground lake that supplies drinking water to about 9 million people.

Vivid description from Bloomberg.

One of the only natural areas within walking distance of our apartment is a small island in a man-made lake next to the dead mall. They spent most of last year rebuilding the bridge to it. Definitely glad to have it back. I walked over on my lunch break.

My cat, Moose, makes his Winds Howling debut.

Nice sunset tonight. People are squeezing in their last dog walks. About to go pick up pizza.

I finished Casino Royale today. Great book; I’ll be reading more Bond. The twist at the end was foreseeable for way too long, so the whole third act was a dull waiting game, but I can forgive that because the book was short and exciting otherwise.

I just want to acknowledge the way Ian Fleming writes about cars. This was one of my favorite parts of the book. You can feel the power and the heat coming off it.

Bond’s car was his only personal hobby. One of the last of the 4 1/2-litre Bentleys with the supercharger by Amherst Villiers, he had bought it almost new in 1933 and had kept it in careful storage through the war. It was still serviced every year and, in London, a former Bentley mechanic, who worked in a garage near Bond’s Chelsea flat, tended it with jealous care. Bond drove it hard and well and with an almost sensual pleasure. It was a battleship-gray convertible coupe, which really did convert, and it was capable of touring at ninety with thirty miles an hour in reserve.

Bond eased the car out of the garage and up the ramp and soon the loitering drum-beat of the two-inch exhaust was echoing down the tree-lined boulevard, through the crowded main street of the little town, and off through the sand dunes to the south.

And later, a car chase:

He went fast through the gears and settled himself for the pursuit, briefly savoring the echo of the huge exhaust as it came back at him from either side of the short main street through the town.

Soon he was out on the coast road, a broad highway through the sand-dunes which he knew from his morning’s drive had an excellent surface and was well cat’s-eyed on the bends. He pushed the revs up and up, hurrying the car to eighty then to ninety, his huge Marchal headlights boring a safe white tunnel, nearly half a mile long, between the walls of the night.

Now whenever I’m trying to find my way down a dark road with the pathetic headlights of my Subaru Crosstrek, I’m going to think about James Bond boring a safe white tunnel through the night with his Marchal headlights.

It’s suddenly walk-out-the-door-without-a-coat-on weather. It’s guy playing frisbee with his dog weather. It’s neighbor smoking on his patio while his cat wanders around weather. High of 70F. Tomorrow it’s raining, and then next week it’s below freezing.

Ducks are enjoying a partially melted pool on the shore of Lake St. Helen.

Afternoon walk in the woods while visiting grandpa in St. Helen.

We are back at Old Nation Brewing Company in Williamston, Michigan. Had a great time here for the first time a few weeks ago, so decided to stop again on the way up north.