(no subject)

Slow happy reread of Point of Hopes is now finished, alas. Perfect book for perfect weather, a rare conjunction. I do wish I could locate those passages that first, a baker's dozen of years ago, gave me the impression of Phillip being motherless and Rafe being-- I forget, son of a father his mother didn't marry? Which last seems wrong, after my ohh I forget, fifth or sixth time through Point of Dreams; and Phillip had a mother who had other kids and wasn't paying attention to the time of his birth, whatever happened later on. (I think that's in the early part of Dreams too. Must rererere-read.)

Smells like summer on the cool breeze out the window, meaning barbecues and hamburgers.

Oddity today as I walked out: wet sidewalks here and there along the block but grass dry. As I got closer to the corner saw splotches on the sidewalk, too dark to be ground-in plums from the plum tree. Blood stains, splattered quite thickly at the corner in front of the Greek Gardener's, who said the police had been by to look at them but couldn't say where they'd come from. Splatters grew less and less as one went up the block, but the fastidious had still washed their sidewalks. Someone could have been cut and then put pressure on the wound so the bleeding grew more sporadic, but my s-i-l suggests, more pragmatically, that it was a nose bleed. Not sure that nose bleeds splatter quite that way, but seems possible.