Monday it was too gorgeous to stay inside. I threw on a sweater and headed out to Dow’s Lake.
The trees aren’t changing much yet, but I sat by the water and thought and wrote and thought. I made sense out of the senseless.
I sat in a garden and wrote and thought some more. I appreciated the sun. The day warmed up and I regretted choosing the sweater and then gave in and sweated.
The bright pink ones are eye-catching, especially against the purple whatever-that-is-that-isn’t-lavender, but I liked the patches like these best. Everything’s fading now. Even the sunsets are quiet and dim, as if there’s no energy left at six-thirty to put on a show.
Unlike the sun and the seasons and little pink flowers, I can tell myself to cheer up.
A long stroll through an old neighborhood becoming new, an early dinner, a glass of wine. Just enough to send me home with my notebook and good memories.