Tonight there's an orange half moon. I suspect the color is related to the big fires burning to our north and east.
The piece of fiction writing I accomplished this summer was based on the day I left for college and the day I arrived. Even since then I keep finding earlier versions of dealing with these days, in boxes, file cabinets and trunks. Clearly it seemed important near the time (the first version written within months) and subsequently, and now, which I suddenly realize is pretty close to exactly a half century ago.
Apart from the language, there's the perspective of time, and the decisions of what to include (relevant information and memories, for example) that sheds light on that person--even if not deliberately fictionalized, now so remote in time as not to be exactly me as I am--and the meaning of those two days.
In going through the version I happened upon most recently and making some additions and changes to the "chapter" I wrote this summer, I realized that, even with the changes I may make in the future, this is basically the last version. And the best.