The first day of the week dawns with cottony softness. I am groggier this morning than usual, but it is a pleasant grogginess. The world is in full leaf here, the migrating birds are back, and I have spotted the second monarch butterfly of the season.
It is odd how each day I arise in a different mood that is out of sync with the reality. Today a soft sadness gently dissipates with the unfolding of day and the slow infusion of coffee. One of the advantages of retirement is that you can afford moods. You can savor them like fine wines, yet not be consumed by them. I find it odd how emotions ruled me in the past when in actuality they are such transitory things.
The new porch is almost complete. New planters for the handrails came by UPS, a new saw to replace the broken one, some sweet potato vines, both green and purple, to drape the handrails, a tomato plant in a three-gallon planter, and a couple of citronellas for the mosquitos came from Lowes.
I forgot to get nicotianas for evening perfume, but another trip to town later in the week will solve that. I have spent many pleasant evenings and mornings on that deck as I heralded the passing of time.
So here in my adopted State, the days flow by seamlessly, each one unique yet each one the same. Still, like an old fire horse, I want to rise to the call of the alarms, but the battle belongs to the young, and always has. So, with rheumy eyes, I watch the young ride off to battle each morning, and a part of me wants to ride off with them. I would, if it didn’t take so much damned effort!