French Park
I was the epitome of homebody last night. A couple of rented movies became background blurs as I sat on the couch and surfed for a while.
I had half a mind to pull some Lego® from the basement and just tinker, but I got sucked into a book instead. I ate soup. I went to bed early.
This morning I went for my usual Saturday breakfast and read at the counter while mixing up toast with the eggs over medium.
There was a distinct crispness in the air as I left and decided to go for a casual walk through the woods. It rained last night, but it must have been a brief dousing. The ground was hard underneath, but the top film of mud was slick.
I passed no one.
Enjoying the green canopy of trees, I walked along the creek; hunkering my four-eyed self to peer closely at the waters edge for details.
There was nothing cryptic about the moment.
I felt okay.