Good morning from Minneapolis where the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad so I had one more for dessert.

Just kidding. I don't drink. But that is one of the great lines in songwriting history if you ask me and I think of it every Sunday morning as I stumble down the stairs to meet the day.

Quite early Sunday morning it's 7℉ in the Mill City; overcast skies; gusty north-northwest winds; barometer reads Very Dry; and visibility is 10 miles at the airport.

- Cold & dry through Monday.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

—from Dylan Thomas, "Fern Hill"

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