In the mid-nineties we lived in a duplex in south Austin. It was a good student/slacker home that was in sorry shape, but still, not without its charms.
One complaint was the above window, which sat high in the living room, level with the carport roof. It faced west and in the summertime the sun blazed through it as accurately as if the house had been built by Mayan astronomer-priests. Everyday during that first summer we were there (’95) the temperature in the living room was unbearable and you had to wear sunglasses if you faced that way.
Fortunately, my wife had the brilliant idea of painting it. So we trooped up to the carport roof with our roommate, some paints, and no idea of what to do.
The space scene you see here was the end result and over the following summers, it cut our electrical bill dramatically. When we moved out, we had to remove it – no star lasts forever – and so off it went, absorbed into the gravity well of memory, with the help of some turpentine and sandpaper.
James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
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