Painted over the last of the new shingles this morning. The addition doesn’t look so much like an addition anymore as it does a part of the original house. Like everything grew there, naturally. And what a day to paint! If this isn’t the mildest, most beautiful fall we’ve had in years, I sure as hell can’t remember the one that beat it. Clear, sunny skies all day.
Finished a Paul LaFarge story today. “Rosendale.” One of the more interesting things about the piece is its slight shifts in perspective. The narrator (protagonist) does this hall-of-mirror sort of thing, so at one moment she’s writing her memoir and the next she’s writing a story about writing her memoir. Started another story in New Letters, too, but got interrupted and haven’t finished yet. Called “Scars,” I think. Anyway, a reading project for tomorrow.
Quiet evening. No leaf blowers, no kids hollering to their buddies, no dogs barking. Maybe everybody’s just breathing in the last of the good weather. Cut the lawn after getting a haircut. Yard looks like a million bucks, or would, if the old silver maples were still there. Taking a long, all-day drive through the mountains tomorrow. Aspens should be at their peak.