Friends,
It is the dry end of August in Gault Mills, the town I made up for these books. The river is down to its gravel, the lawns went brown back in July, and nobody there is fighting it, because everyone knows the rain is coming and the water bill is real. It is the season the town spends waiting, and I have written the almanac of it below.
Delilah
From the Bench
August in Gault Mills
Late August in the town I made up. The river is down to its gravel, the evenings are coming in earlier, and everybody is waiting on the wet half of the year to start.
Also in the notebook
- What a Closed Mill Leaves Behind A mill town does not empty all at once, and the mill itself goes last. This is what stays, and why I built my town to keep it.
He is a cat, and cats do not consider a missing leg any business of yours.
From Fixed to Death