I'm not sure how I missed the road-striping crew—God only knows, this is not a silent operation—but when I came outside this murky morning to walk my usual route, I was greeted, at a little past 9:30, with a newly painted yellow line, more or less straight, and more or less in the middle of our very rural road. I guess we needed it, for the old line had worn off years ago, and I guess this project will not raise hackles, as an earlier line-striping project did when the owners of Guinea hens cried fowl—sorry—after the birds proved mesmerized by the line and refused to budge. Some, alas, were hit by cars. There aren't too many Guineas left in our area, so no one, so far, has voiced that particular concern about an unintended consequence of progress and yet another assault, albeit a small one, on our hallowed Rural Character. The Town Fathers—and maybe Mothers, too—felt we needed a new stripe. I hope it does its job without proving overly divisive.

The yellow line