I love when a song comes on the radio (or the CD, the iTunes, the iPod, the Walkman -- back in the day, of course) and it completely fits the mood of the moment. A great driving song as you speed along a country road. A calm, soothing tune accompanied by a breeze on a summer day. A great dusk song as the sun sinks below the horizon, painting the sky graduating shades of orange and blue and transforming the trees and just about anything else between you and the skyline into a black silhouette.

That last one just happened now, those colors outside my office window (and, I just noticed, two jets high up in the sky, their contrails a stark white in the evening light, that appeared to be on a collision course and did in fact form an X with their exhausts but were probably thousands of feet in elevation away from one another). The song was Shawn Colvin's "Wichita Skyline," which doesn't necessarily fit the suburban character of Englewood Cliffs, N.J., lyrically, but has a smooth, rolling melody that evokes a ride across the rails or an evening drive past a Kansas wheat field or those flatlands of Texas.

Casey and I just got back from Florida, a simple long weekend with her cousin and his wife to visit Grandma, and the trip managed to be both just what I needed and not enough. After longer vacations, there is sometimes that feeling of being somewhat "ready" to go back to work, to get back into the routine, to catch up on all that I do online. But after shorter breaks, I tend to just want more, and not necessarily an extension of that vacation. I want a new trip.

There's a lot I want to do right now, actually, but quitting time is upon us and rather than stay past 6 just to ramble on, I'll leave that for another entry.

There's still some good driving light left anyway.