the subtropical light reshapes every assumption about how a flat roof meets the horizon. Where Greenville's overcast skies softened the interplay between the limestone cladding and its surrounding canopy, here in Harlingen the same material vocabulary—broad horizontal planes, deeply recessed glass, the deliberate suppression of ornament—takes on an almost confrontational clarity under that relentless South Texas sun, every shadow line cut with surgical precision against the pale masonry. The walnut millwork that reads as warmth in a Kentucky great room becomes something closer to refuge here, a darkened interior core that pulls you inward from the glare the way the best desert modernism always understood shelter as the first luxury. It is precisely this tension between exposure and enclosure that carries forward as we move north again toward Hartford, where the climate moderates but the architectural question persists—how much glass is too much glass when the landscape itself begins to