Time Marches On

When it’s a blah day I don’t see value in sharing my experience. But writing in the third person (as though it were somebody else’s life entirely) makes things interesting.

She pats kale, arugula, carrot, buttercrunch lettuce, and basil seeds into chilled soil as she gambles that winter’s frosty days have passed. Later, she’ll become self-conscious of the excess dirt that’s under her fingernails and embedded into her cuticles as she swigs back a drink while talking to a friend.

She empties the remains of a bag of birdseed into a long plastic cylinder feeder, hoping the fluffy-bellied downy woodpecker returns.

Her ducks break-in the decks’ open gate, wagging their wiggly tail-feathers and nibbling up the seed’s overflow. Of course she ushers them off; she roams barefoot in this area so it needs not house their indiscriminate leavings.

For most the day she sits pondering the things she ought to do. Like yoga or laundry. Unlike Stella, she’ll won’t get her groove back today.

She’ll try for mindful moments and to find appreciation in the lack of doing.

Like when she sits down for a pretend picnic next to her daughter, and husband on the living room floor. And eats imaginary hamburgers, watermelon slices and cups of water. Later, she recall these moments and smile, thankful for their timeless pleasure and beauty.

Love, Her

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