Seven years ago in Ottawa, right before I moved away, I had about 2 1/2 months off. It was a beautiful autumn–it was the year Pierre Trudeau died–and there were many many perfect fall days, just like today: the air fresh and clear, the sun bright, the sky shades of robin’s egg blue. It’s the perfect day to go swimming in a small lake, surrounded by maple and pine, and the pink rock of parts of the Canadian Shield.

But I need to spend about six hours working. And I have less than six hours in which to work. Maybe I’ll work on the porch …

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