At 7000 feet

There's a lovely, autumnal crispness to the air in Flagstaff. Beaver Street Brewery was warm and festive. The leaves along Oak Creek Canyon are beginning to turn. The rocks in Sedona glowed Martian red in the late afternoon sunlight. My breakfast sandwich at the hippy coffee joint was yummy. I felt somewhat for the desperate writer tasked with interviewing an entirely unresponsive Philip Roth in today's Washington Post. I wrote a dialog exchange for my Norse novel, and I don't know where it will fall, but it's a key to my protag's character. Some stress this weekend over my parents' health, but other than that, I've achieved good mental space up here in the pines.