The garage door guy arrived around 8:30 to replace both doors. Yep, one guy but he says he can do it and he probably knows.
I don't know what I did yesterday besides work at work and then sit on the couch and read that paper book again while icing my ankle so I don't really have much to show you this morning.
When I was making the bed this morning I looked out (to the west) and saw that the clouds were tinted that morning peachy pink so I sauntered (I don't run, I barely hurry) to the kitchen where the sun was higher than I though so this is what I saw. The few clouds way on the horizon were a little orange, a little gray. I like the way the tree is in silhouette.
Because I'm so enchanted by the orioles that are suddenly visiting I'm going to burden you with another picture. Partly because I like them and partly because I don't have anything else to say or show.
September 1--Don B. Stevenson, Mesa at Sunrise. From a distance Ghost Mustang Mesa looked perfectly square. Its sides seemed to jut up from the plain and the top looked flat enough to hold the bubble of a level in the exact center of the tube. The closer you got the less perfect it became. Shadows scribed the rifts in the rock and the sunrise painted the eastern side a pale golden pink. There looked to be no way to the top without ropes and climbing gear but for decades people on the lonely roads around the mesa had seen white horses on top. Their manes blew in the hot summer wind and their hooves kicked up plumes of dust. No one ever saw them on the wide plain surrounding the ancient outcrop.
Can you tell I'm reading a novel in which the main character has visions of "those gone before"? I'm so predictable. I'm off to go to work and see if the garage door guy's made any progress.