A week for the history books ends on a quiet, misty spring morning.
I know it’s spring, despite the mild temperature (60°F) because the thick cloying texture of pollen is in the air. If you see me in a face mask, know that it is not for any damn virus but for the pollen.
I don’t know if it was me or her, but Keely was very distracted this morning, stopping for longer periods to smell bushes she normally ignores and zig zagging through the cottages’ commons. It strikes me writing this now that, yes, Keely has specific bushes she prefers checking over others — I guess kind of like how humans like me have favorite locations such as parking spots or bus seats. Are we not all creatures of habit? I guess we are.
But moving slow this morning is good, as I am tired and we both woke up early. I hate beating my alarm, it is so unjust.
The regulars, aside from Have a Good Day guy, were absent. Sign’o’the times.
Another sign of spring: the damn ducks and geese were all a’honkin’ like the obnoxious gremlins they are, flapping their wings and splashing each other. I prefer winter ducks, quiet and floating in peace.
It was a struggle to keep to my mood and my music, as my monkey mind kept screaming at me about the horrors going on in my country right now, and there is a palpable sense of panic infused in all the everyday affairs around me.
I guess Keely and I are on the same wavelength again: distracted, and wandering.