“October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or shutting a book, did not end the tale. Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: “It is simply a matter,” he explained to April, “of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content.” ~ Neil Gaiman
“I think that to one in sympathy with nature, each season, in turn, seems the loveliest.” ~ Mark Twain
A morning of few words. Both time and a mood make it so. It has been a long two days. That the first feast of the Winter holiday season arrived has something to do with it, for sure. It’s a frenzy. Get it? I’m in retail. No praise. No blame. People get worked up as the season arrives, and . . . sigh. I am writing here as if some relativistic critic sits waiting to pounce upon any mildly egoic statement I might make. Pounce away, good buddy. It’s not about me. I know that. Truth is that this phase of the yearly cycle of life kinda sorta harmonizes with the personal phase in my life. I await the snow and the cessation of these deceptive days in which Autumn would be Spring. Day after tedious day the comment of the day is that it is indeed a crisp, temperate day. Again and again. There’s a sameness to it that for some odd reason reminds me of a South Florida postcard. But what I want for myself is a physical stage set by Nature, to facilitate a cozy phase of intentional healing, of cherished solitude, of general sighs, and a chair, and a cat – until the season passes. I’ve got all three, and I know how to use them. So, I wait. Should be a lovely day today. No true discontent beyond the winking words of this scribe. I can wait.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.