Yesterday was my day of the week chosen to run a few errands, got groceries. I will be glad when winter is over so fruit will be back in a “buyable” range. Much as I love strawberries on my morning cereal, I am not paying $4.99 for them.
Some mornings I wake up and wonder what day it is. I guess because most of my days are relatively the same. I do the same things, day to day. There is a certain measure of serenity in this.
I remember when I was a child I wasn’t crazy about weekends. We lived out in the country and didn’t have a car. For the most part I was on my own to entertain myself because no children lived out there.
Maybe that’s where I learned to love solitude. Back there with pencil and paper when I made up stories to amuse myself.
I finally broke down and bought fresh flowers at the grocery. They were $6.98. And since I very rarely buy magazines anymore, I justified the expense by telling myself the flowers looked like spring sunshine. Sometimes nothing is quite as grand as a pitcher full of fresh flowers.
The days march on, as January moves toward February. Speaking of months, my reader friend Charlotte sent me the Susan Branch 2014 calendar. She was nice enough to send one last year too.
I’ve met so many wonderful people through blogging. Friends from all walks of life.
I will enjoy it immensely, Charlotte. I thank you for your generosity. And of course your friendship.
Mornings are so full of possibility, aren’t they. You wake up and have no idea where your day will take you.
The sun is shining outside the window, which is cause for thankfulness in these winter months. There is barely any wind. The neighbor’s flag across the street is waving lazily in the slightest of breezes.
Other than that I see birds flying high, little dots against the light blue of a sunlit sky. I wonder if they have a destination.
I have had so many dreams of flying, all my life. I don’t like to try to nail down what dreams are about. For that seems to take the magic out of them.
I can close my eyes and recall each time flying up and up. I can remember how I move my hands to shift me higher, similar to strokes you slice through water to swim.
I don’t know what I’m flying to, but the elation of being airborne is so liberating that I don’t really care.
It’s enough just to fly with the birds. Far above earthly troubles of any variety. Soaring through blue skies to undetermined destinations.