[right after the solstice] the temps were down into daytime forties and we in a cloud.

But first there was merely wetness, nearly daily,

alternating with that intense late low light at summer’s end.

As the days brightly shortened

we made another welcome trip to La Clinica for another round of Desireé’s ministrations,

in my case unfortunately offset soon after by having to change a tire on the Taco which, being the first [and only] flat in nine years, meant that the machineries were all froze with rust…

This was followed the very next day by eight and a half hours of constant errands in Pueblo [including but not limited to a dubious haircut and less dubious tire repair] while Linda experienced three and a half of Dental Chair Torment [during some of which I was able to catch

up with Dave about his Burning Man adventures as well as plans to install five miles of strobes on the Smoke Creek, never mind that he doesn’t seem to grok the difference between any lights no matter how dim and no lights at all] and then home, diminished, to discover a nail freshly

embedded in the truck’s left front after our daily walk up Dry Creek; time to research re-tiring

as the dogbane turned. Fortunately dogs were neither tempted, harmed nor baned.

The light continued brilliant, my back remained sorely sore in the aftermath of Wednesday’s

unaccustomed tire changing efforts, Orly graded without ditching and Saturday the weather

turned unrelentingly damp, soaking the newly scraped roads which being in a dripping cloud

most of Sunday didn’t alleviate…nor did the muddy arrival of Fred Smith, serious painter and summertime art tourist from California whose deep ruts through the pigpen were noted

by Leon with some dismay the following morning…a morning which, after breakfast as well as a little trek up fossil hill we accompanied Fred in his car [a convenient way to dissuade him from

revisiting the ruts, a concept about which he seemed unclear] to meet Dean, an individual more

attuned to his art world interests and musings than the likes of us. The two of them instantly

connected and were soon settled in to talking story so we left just as,

too late to head him off, UPS descended into the muddy depths with what turned out to be our

nuts, fortunately navigating the hardening muck handily. From the meadow below Libre’s First

Structure we were at least able to intercept FedEx and collect “Turn and Go!”*, a strangely thick

little book by Steve Pezman before we turned and went on to lunch and, subsequently upstairs, try to find some way back into the studio after all the various distractings of the last several many days.

*The dust jacket photo sent me down an inevitable internet rabbithole looking for “1956 Chevrolet sedan delivery for sale”, oh well.