“Each spice has a special day to it. For turmeric it is Sunday, when light drips fat and butter-colored into the bins to be soaked up glowing, when you pray to the nine planets for love and luck.” ~ Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
“Sundays are like confetti floating in the air in slow motion, in the evening they reach the ground and you hope a bit of wind could blow on them so they could fly a bit longer.” ~ Alain Bremond-Torrent
“The power is in the balance: we are our injuries, as much as we are our successes.” ~ Barbara Kingsolver
Sunday again. Outside the window behind my desk I see the sunlight has convinced the trees to be golden for a while. The shriveled dead leaves that managed to stay attached throughout rigors of Winter have chosen orange instead. A magpie has been here a couple of times to finish off the suet in the apple tree. Silly Maggie. So smart, so rude, so obnoxious, and their tail, however gorgeous, seems to be a tad too long. It keeps their flight paths low. None of that breathtaking high soaring that their big black corvid cousins do so well. Yeh, their are few birds that can match the aerial shenanigans of ravens.
Well, there ya have it. I went out beyond the fence to have a smoke, look that the mountains, and to marvel at my new car. As I started to return to the room I noticed some smudges on the hood. Cat prints! Friggin cats. Gotta love ’em. The car is black, which makes the effect abundantly clear. Makes me smile, it does. And no, I did not wipe them off. Why would I? I think it’s kinda cool. But enough of that. I’ve got a couple of hours before I head to the laundromat – fully gloved and mask at ready. Why wait two hours? It’s Sunday, there’re no beer sales before noon. Somehow I just can’t whip up much fear about the pandemic. People are keeping their distance and I’ve got a robust immune system. And the last time I had it checked, my blood oxygen level was 100% – at 7000 ft of altitude. Pretty darned good, in . . . I almost said “in my humble opinion,” but that just don’t sound humble at all, now does it. The nurse practitioner said she had never seen a perfect score before. Pretty lady. I like her smile. I’m halfway tempted to go check out the West Rim trail along the gorge, after the laundromat, of course. There’s about a 60/40% chance I won’t go. Who knows? But I am going somewhere. These days I don’t wanna walk the trail less taken, because it seems ta me that sometimes the reason it is less taken is because it ain’t a good idea to do so. Ciao.
All is well. Goof gloriously.