Cold fingers and toes.

Quiet on the roof this morning.

Already past 7:00 am.

The sky is gray and low and it really feels like fall.

I start to climb the ladder. I think of how only a few short weeks ago the idea of climbing scared me. There are many things I am no longer afraid of since I began.

At lunch, we take an imaginary trip to Rome.

One day I will write a story about this twenty-year-old green sweater.

Pork chops and apples. The smell of allspice and sage and clove. Potatoes. She says it tastes like fall.

Dana Scully.

Three antacids. Three more. Five.