19 November 2004


This exhaustive week is finally nearing completion. (The last 7 days have been non-stop work and travel. Planes, trains and automobiles. Writing, design and typesetting. This morning there is a brief moment to loaf on the porch and catch my breath. It appears that sometime around Wednesday vivid autumn vacated our neighborhood, having dropped its last crinkled oak leaf to usher in the desaturated grays and browns of winter. Warren, in a muted plum shirt, jeans, suspenders and knit cap is busy in his garden rotating and raising the beds, piling the long rows high with fallen leaves. He raises his arm high and lets fly a big wave when he sees me descend the porch steps. Soon he will retire to his workshop and white smoke will billow eternally from the tall stove pipe and he will spend his winter days carving and assembling windsor chairs from logs of ash.) And this weekend--if I am lucky--will be spent doing next to nothing.

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