play day

these saturdays is increasingly turning to days of rest as time passes and leaves its marks on the body. As time is measured in years and not weeks and months, and recollections span decades, a half century, and not only months ans years.
that is the run of the mill and it will keep on grinding some time yet.
Untill it stops,  grinding to a halt, will not go on forever. No poetic enty into the realms of darkness, or some such similar aphorism here, just a sudden games over without the option of extended credit.
There is no other option open.

A weekend at the end of summer, no real plans. Wake to the sound of the cat, the son, the light reflected of the grey clouds into the narrow courtyard, where the hops are growing for the second year now. A hoppy courtyard, bitter  hops hanging about for decor's sake. Sit, think, listen, and get up, and after all morning absolutions settle down to grind the coffee, prime the machine and start the gas.
First things first, get cups from the dishwasher, and when the machine is done, fill the two cups with coffee, milk and sweetener in one, the other black.
Coffee at the bedside for the wife, and get the laptop.
Check the mail,
write this blog.

Untill the mug is empty