a misty view

This is the fourth of July. I have pink eye. I’m sorta patriotic and, still, viral germs have also taken residence in my throat and lungs. Perhaps it’s covid. Maybe my eighteenth summer cold. Maybe this ancient engine, running down in an increasingly filled-up world.

I was thinking last night I miss the Blog. This Blog. Writing it. Being it. Honoring it. Missing brought me here today. Sunday, within the influence of this viral mileu, I strolled and ambled through a new neighborhood, one in which I am about to live – happily, I tell you, with my Sweetie – waiting on the painters, waiting on the cleaners, waiting for the earth to spin like a ring around the rosy, a few more times. I saw things I’d never seen, Sunday, and am sure I did not see things to which I may yet thrill.

Now it’s a Tuesday. The BeeGees once sang – “Ooh, you’re a holiday.” I’ve begged off an invite to a ‘new’ family thing, pink eye well-known to share with the best of them. I have the feeling I’ll be alone today. Which is okay. I’m in a pre-packing, pre-moving place, and a Tuesday works as well as another time. Maybe amble through this here ‘hood in which I’ve lived some 21 months. The crooked recliner, cups of coffee, and a zillion Zen books wave their hands too. And kids, because they’re Zen books, all those hands have eyes in them.