Late sun

Strange to have to put on jackets to walk in the morning; we seem to be stuck in a pattern here, but the cool nights, while hard on the vegetable garden, are good for sleeping. A few more cherry tomatoes made the ripeness grade, and we'll dine on them tomorrow. Beloved offspring had a good climb over in Leavenworth, and beloved spouse a good kayak in the South Sound region. We fortholders held on, with diversions here and there.
Finished another odd little novel, titled Embers. It was first published in 1942, by a Hungarian writer named Marai. Very florid language, perhaps from a combination of being dated and a translation; main protagonist is a long-winded old fart, but he did have a few home truths in his philosophical meanderings.