It's all over but the singing.
Spent the morning riding shotgun with a Montco roofer-philosopher who was sealing basements and unclogging gutters. Got pretty wet while holding his ladder so I could get a storm column in tomorrow's paper. Saw lots of deer knee-deep in water that a day before had been fields. Saw lots of crumbled stone walls and yellow police tape and severed tree limbs and insane dog-walkers who got duped into thinking Irene had left.
She's pretty much gone now, though. It's all over but the singing. And the clean-up. Cue Ry Cooder.