It's the end of summer and I'm left alone for a week and there's not enough room in this apartment for swinging cats. Out in the woods a couple hundred of us meet in the dark amphitheater for a jazz concert. Horn and sax and piano and drums and bass. And record player. I wonder if this is the first turntablist -- my spellchecker chokes on turntablist but not on spellchecker -- and the first wikki-wikkies neath these trees. In the clearing over us all is Lyra and a shiny old Vega circling.