  a swell morning. Light fog outside, obscuring the houses below. As the air warms, the fog settles, and trees become visible. it is pink and grey outside. dew on the grass and the truck and stuff. far off, the clanging of the buoy at Pony Point. No planes yet. No traffic sounds. no sirens. just the thud of the dryer and the whir of the computer. Now, back to work. my hands are killing me. 
