Cozy Saturday mornings. The non-expectancy, a joy to lounge in. Even the walks throughout the house. Warm socks, hoodie, those worn in sweatpants with the paint dried atop, but just below, the finger’s arc, beside the buzzing pocket. My weekdays’ kryptonite, subtly wasting away my sight with tiny screens of delight. Somehow still so pleasurable, technology, a never-ending bookshelf.
Today in our shelter of warmth and cheer, I’ll have my favorite things. All around in autumn’s chill, you’ll find us playing games, reading old fashioned paper bounds, and dreaming with no fear of cold soup, we eat just to feel the warmth inside too. A holiday movie and cookies with the smell of cinnamon, a pumpkin, a quick break on the roof. You can feel the shift in our revolving doors. To fall, from such heated debate through the new year seeds, sewn. Strewn about.
After such a season’s retreat, the following months I loathe. It being not so much the months’ fault, as is the place of absurdly wet, bitter, cold, pleasures negated. There is so much to be had in such hibernation, a weekly staycation. But the fallen season is the best until spring comes and the reciprocally identical climate becomes just as true, without the fest.
Sipping on my second pot of coffee, maybe a tea, warm palms cupping the milk dilution of either. Roaming the pages of our intimate setting, plotting our course forward. A wondrous hike of doing nothing, at least nothing in the wake of the previous week’s take. The lions roam free in a field of their own. Tumbles and fort making fumbles, nothing better than a curious cub’s intrigue, weathering snacks and nap time without a schedule.
The day grows long, a myriad of fun, sometimes active and sometimes not. This is a Saturday, a reprieve from all that encroaches. Like walking a trail path, clearing the way for the following day, always the same way. Maybe one day they’ll all feel the same, the seasons and days, carried on by the stream’s foray against the bank. Never suddenly different, but always the same as the moment before, still feels the same as the last moment, and the one before. Finally, for once, not keeping score.