Up early to a cool morning. Worked on the new story most of the morning. Still struggling, mightily, with the last page and half. It gets better with each telling, but the going's slow.
Day warmed up well enough to work in shirt sleeves. Grateful for that. Helped the neighbors take down a tree, then gave up the keyboard to mow the lawns, fill and seed a few more patches, and plant some new shrubs. Mended the stones in the back patio, too, that plumbers messed up. Been looking to take care of that little project since last fall. Nice to finally have it out of the way.
A quarter of the way through my re-reading of The Crossing. Always thought it was the saddest book I'd ever read. This confirms it. Christ, McCarthy can write.
Behind on my other reading and correspondence. Need to kick it in high gear. Owe letters to at least three people, return phone calls to another three.