(Photo by Davy Carren)

The sky’s as blue-and-white as an ’87 GT Performer. But soon all escalating clouds get their adornments of pink-tinged ruffles as they decide to stick around, moseying, hydrangea-bunched, clipped you might say, or waddling off to more outrageous pastures. I think of glare and glint, specks of sun skipping from window glass, blinding me as I squint my gaze down to a manageable strip of sight. The raking cornice of an Italianate three-story home…