Segue to promoting grammar

There's snow on the roofs this morning, as there was yesterday morning. It's cozy in here, but that's only because I keep under the covers and wear clothes for a change. The snow is no more than a light dusting of sugary crystals, blue grey in the dawn's light, matching the color of the sky. The green leaves of the leggy weed outside my bedroom window haven't yet realized they are not long for this earth and cling stubbornly and strongly to the branches. Only some wandering ivy has gone crimson as it weaves in an out of the lilac bushes leaves, obscuring the sign that says the parking space next to the cottage is exclusively for my use.

The honeysuckle has gone to berries, dark purple berries, drops of thick heart's blood on the slender tendrils of brown and green that are all that remain of the honeysuckle's perfumed and petaled glory of the summer past. It is truly autumn and yet feels more like the stirrings of a long and cold winter. The hoary, craggy head of Pikes Peak stands proud against the blue-grey sky, a monolith to immortality that will one day be worn down by the constant freezing and thawing that cracks the very foundations and will some century bring the mountain peaks low. But not today. Today it is strong and tall and immortal, visible from every point of the city and far across the eastern plains. Even on the other side of the pass, Pikes Peak dominates the eastern horizon.

Books lay littered across the bed, inching toward the crevice between mattress and wall, my constant companions. They wait silently and patiently for me to notice and pick them up once again when work and responsibilities are finished and put away, and they are the resources for much of my mental gymnastics and pyrotechnics, offering new ideas for old.

An old idea given a new form is up at Suite 101 after long and tiring labor, finally birthed and waiting to be read, all about the use of quotation marks in direct quotes.

That is all. Disperse.