So it is true; there is a warrant out for my arrest.

A letter arrived at my parents house Monday describing options for my "safe surrender" at a Washington D.C. courthouse.

The details after this will be omitted, largely due to the fact that they become increasingly complicated, involve trips to the - god forbid - Department of Motor Vehicles and are ultimately mundane. (But I had you at that first sentence, didn't I?!) The bottom line is there is or was someone in the parrallel universe of 7:45 am December 30th, 2001 that used a name very similar to mine and my childhood address when arrested. A Sara without an "H"... really?

Identity theft - even in this rather minor, resolvable instance - is a bizarre feeling.

The upside to this debacle is that I had to cancel my Tuesday and head upstate to my folks' (the DMV in their town is like a god damn garden party compared to those in the city) and dilly dally around my parents place for the afternoon. The autumn anemones are about to bloom...a mystery plant creeps out from it's squat in an old watering can, and I found a nice smattering of bittersweet - inconspicuously stealing itself, still green, wound up in an old catalpa tree.

I love this time of year when August gives us a gentle reminder that summer can't last forever. The garden and its surroundings are in over-production, run-away growth. Edging just a little towards the realm of past-prime. A trained eye might detect the slightest fade. Here and there, a bit of rust. The rather romantic process of flora sacrificing leaves for seed.

To my stunt double; I hope you're staying out of trouble. And looking good...why not? But please don't steal any of my money. I need it all for the farm..