Oil on Wood
A big breeze blew the sailors on their way this morning. I retrieved the car from the boatyard and went to the postoffice to mail a painting to Ohio. Then the car wouldn't start, so Rosie and I had a nice walk home, arriving just in time to watch the ICs race right off our beach. It is evening now. The house is quiet and sweet solitude fills every room. The wind has died down, leaving August in the air.
Dry. Crisp. Clean. And full of possibility.