The weather approached warm today, but in the evening, before the sun has begun to set, it is already cooling down and I need to put on a sweater. It's been such a quiet, free-feeling day, and now as I take my walk, it's one of those evenings when every object is distinct and colors are intense. I'm especially observing the plant-life in the neighborhood, and every leaf and blossom glows with its own unique ontological fire.
Later, fireworks bloom across the sky at a great distance from us. We notice them in passing, returning to our books, the front door open to the night air, to the periodic ingress and egress of the cat, to the sound of possums scurrying through dry rhododendron leaf-litter.
In "Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Novel" Jane Smiley writes, "A novel is a hypothesis. A novelist shares with a scientist the wish to observe. A novelist also shares with a scientist a partial and imperfect knowledge of the phenomenon he wishes to observe. And so both novelist and scientist say, 'what if?'"