the lost man chronicles
the daily chronicle
Embattled by the sudden cold front and the lingering woes of over-indulgence, yesterday passed somewhat blurred and unappreciated.
Not that anything out of the ordinary occurred, but sometimes even the ordinary can be extraordinary when we stop for a moment to reflect upon the innocuous travails of the day, especially if, in an auspicious way, they contrast against the darker days of the past.
Thus, in retrospect, I must say that yesterday was rather wholesome and fun.
The day began with a slower rising of the sun, as I arose weary from driving in 96 wood screws to fasten 48 hinges and hang 24 rolling white shades for most of Saturday. Hence, the house was dark as ever in the morrow, and I slept in accordingly, absconding the chill of the weather that was a changing.
When I did rise, I languidly took to brewing my coffee and sipped while finishing another musing.
Most of the day was spent lackadaisically in the backyard under the shade of the canopy, writing.
However, when the evening chill began to subdue the day, I stood up to shake off my laboring stupor, and after a stretch of chair-ridden musculature, I straddled my new bicycle and rode a timeless weave of infanous-eights for a while.
Invigorated, I then took to the park and futilely attempted to fly a kite. My sprints across the sloping knoll were in vain though, as the rustling breeze could not sustain a loft.
My spirit undaunted, I took off to collect Fall flora instead. Using my empty snack sack, I stuffed it with various sprigs and twigs of violet, white and gold wildflowers, which I would set out to dry and perhaps press in a field book later on.
And much the same as last year at this time, I picked a few dozen divine and dark blue berries to make light violet dye. Later, I would dilute this royal hue with a few drops of aqua-dew to paint purple pictures and write regal letters by.
Upon my return, I cleaned up, packed up, washed up and put away. And a few more chores later I was ready for a small repast so that I might fall fast into slumber and respectfully finish the day.
So, it wasn’t exactly unusual or unbelievable or uncanny by any means, but even if it was just another slow Sunday, I would not have enjoyed in any other way.
Three years and three days ago to the day, I similarly sat in my back yard writing, pondering recent days past. Alas, back then autumn looming bespoke of something different. Today, albeit it promises to be much more pleasant than the threat it once meant, I try not to be too disrespectful of this quiet fortune or too indifferent to the absence of calamity that one may once again begin taking for granted.
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