Seven years as an owl in the wood

Thanks to nineweaving for renewing my paid account, so I don't have to lose all my photographs. Today felt like autumn: grey-watered sky, wind full of wet leaves. I shifted my usual paraphernalia—keys, wallet, pocketknife, phone—back into the pockets of my corduroy jacket and wore my new hiking boots in the mud. They're reinforced leather, solid as wood; they are not steel-toed, but I wouldn't want to be kicked in the shins with them. They're very comfortable. I've still been trying to break them in before I leave tomorrow for Ossipee, Maine New Hampshire, where I will be spending the remainder of the week with schreibergasse, G, and my ungodson. Please note that I will have no internet. Anyone who really needs to get hold of me before Friday, I suspect you have my phone number. Anyone who doesn't, I hope it's a good week.

Otherwise most of this weekend was spent with Mike, who was visiting from Vancouver for the first time since last April. Mostly we walked for miles; bought cherries, nectarines, and orange roses from Wilson Farms; had vegetable momos and salmon tarkari at Yak & Yeti in Somerville; talked. He introduced me to the concept of literal music videos, which I think have knocked an easy ten points off my IQ. I showed him A Canterbury Tale (1944); he was very struck by Eric Portman as Colpeper. fleurdelis28 joined us on Saturday and stayed through dinner. It was a good visit. Possibly we'll even manage the next one before another ten to eighteen months have passed, but I wouldn't bet anything on that.

And lastly, I do not usually pay much attention to trailers, but The Red Machine looks fantastic. I wish it weren't playing only in Chicago. Maybe the Coolidge Corner takes requests.