It really is, this very day. I don't look too bad for 103, do I? Someone asked if that included a past life. But no, it's just that it's in writer years. Anyway, it was a wild morning by the river, the sky a layered, multi-colored quilt, white and charcoal over strips of pale gray, blue and fading pink. Once or twice the sun broke through, but vanished quickly behind fast-moving clouds. The wind whipped up high whitecaps and even the seagulls had trouble flying. Branches waved around as though they were excited about something and telling the next tree. The few joggers who came out had a great time speeding south, but going north they looked almost cartoonish, they had to lean so hard into the wind. I love my place by the river and I was delighted that it put on such a boistreous show for my birthday.