Because I always complain about the fall and winter months

. . . I just want to say what an astonishingly beautiful day it has been today. Light like honey everywhere. Kathy, Sally and I walked down City Creek Canyon and marveled at the layers of color and texture and the way sun crowned the hills all around us.

A golden day, people. One for the journal.

Back home

The trip to Cedar was lovely. I listened to P. D. James' INNOCENT BLOOD, one of her few stand-alone novels. It's dynamite. Whenever I read James, I hear whispers of Dickens and Trollope. Also the Bible. What amazes me is her closely observed details of setting, her profound sympathy for unsympathetic characters, and her image-making ability. I think she's just grand.

The talk went well. As I suspected, no actual teens showed up. The average age of my listeners was probably 65. But they were totally game and engaged, and I wanted to have a big old pizza party and sleepover with them when I finished.

I ordered a meat pie at the pub instead of fish and chips. Fish and chips would have been a better call. The waitress warned me that the meat pie was sweet. And I thought that would be fine. But I kinda didn't fancy the clove-i-ness of it all.

Came home to autumn in the Avenues. Let me tell you, people, there is no more beautiful neighborhood in autumn than mine. Not to be rude.