It is a gray morning, here in London. We sit in the building with the golden balls, look out the window, and wonder…

…how does it all work?

Now the summer days are dwindling down to a precious few. This morning, it is overcast and chilly here in central France. The leaves on the aspen and linden trees have turned yellow already; whenever the wind blows, they flutter to the ground as if they were trying to get away from something.