A light frost covered the windshield this morning, the kind of frost that disappears immediately with a shot of washer fluid and a swipe of the wipers. The frosts that require chipping and scraping still lurk in the upcoming weeks. I needed a light jacket both this morning and throughout the day on the few occasions that I was outside, but the skies were high and bright and crossed with contrails stretching from Kansas City to Denver and from Chicago to Dallas. I might have been too harsh in my earlier pronouncements about November: This one hasn't been too bad.

I scanned a photo this morning, the one of Ethel and Ella riding in England. I've stored it here. Eventually, I'll add some other comments to it. It was taken on a holiday in England during the early 1930's, I'm told. From left to right: their host (unknown to me), Ethel, and Ella, my father's aunts, his mother's sisters. The man at the right was unknown to my aunts; indeed, they claimed to be unaware of his presence altogether when the photo was taken. From her posture, the host seems to be the most accomplished rider, sitting as she does more nearly at the ready than either Ethel or Ella appear to be.

The photo is not extraordinary, I suppose, but it has been a part of my visual vocabulary since childhood and I want to preserve it here. The photo came through my father to me when I was a kid. It was tucked away in an anthology of poetry that the aunts had given him when he was a child. I came across it on November 21, when I was searching for a poem by Vachel Lindsay. The pic will appear without much (or any) accompanying text for now, but I'll add to the text later and link to it again when the words come. Enough for now.

I didn't call Carly this weekend, but she is due a courtesy call, so I'll get around to it sooner or later.

I should write about the change I feel in the writing voice I use in the journal now that it's possible that others might read it. Not that they are -- and that's okay too.

I was tempted to revise the entry from yesterday after I realized that I had not explained that Sam the psychiatrist and I have a social association, not a professional one. Is that related to the writing voice matter? Are there voices? Where? Hello?