For several weeks now, I’ve been saying this to Ed – it’s is last warm day... you should paint, you wont be able to do it again until spring!
But today, I think I'm right.
There isn’t a lot left – the wall behind the screen porch (who can even tell from the outside...), the dormer to the west. And I don’t really mind anymore. The house looks good and yellow, or yellow and therefore good. I’m happy. And still, Ed picks up the brush and sits down in the dry porch area to paint.
Even as today, I really say these words (it’s the last warm day...) more to myself than to him. To prod me into realization. We’re dropping down in temperatures significantly next week.
So, rather than bemoan the drizzly soppiness of the day, let me remember it for its unique warm loveliness. Especially as witnessed against a now Caribbean Sunshine Yellow house.
The weekend is a quiet one. Before the storm of December shenanigans. Isis comes and goes, I write exams, watch movies with Ed... We’re waiting until businesses open on Monday to attack the sewage issues. No real pressures today or tomorrow.
Though you have to look hard to find the pretty details, the things of color, the odd piece of fruit still clinging to the pear tree. No partridge. Just a pear -- oddly shaped, tough, but golden.
Turkey soup for dinner. With lime and avocado and chilies. There is no better leftover food, eaten on quiet leftover days.