Sunday walk coming.

the head, cut hair and trimmed, stuffed with a constant hiss and tiredness. Still it is early. Take the computer to the living room, sit at the table. The cat arrives, elegantly walking over the floorboards in the sitting room, tail errected. It lets it's head be scratched, and then jumps onto the ledge of the open window.
Pat pat pat pat. There is the sound of a runner passing outside. The news, there is no great news today. A terror attack in Australia foiled. Trump throwing tantrums. No big news.

Pat pat pat pat- the runner returns, runs down the alley into town. Fitness early in the morning.
Make the coffee, the same as yesterday, the same coffee pot, and use the same type of cup.
As yesterday, apilco.

The sun is bright outside now, the sky is cloudless, the house opposite a bright glaring yellow now.
The wife is up, and the cat is away, begging for a food, smelly cat food from a cat food tin.

There will be a walk again today, the third time a long Sunday walk is to be taken.

Look forward.

It is later now,  a second cup of coffee, the cat cuddled, it seems to like that.
The tiles in the hallway are loose, they will need to be fixed sometime soon, sooner or later, better sooner than later.
Still sitting at the table, still in the night clothes, now the wife brings a paper advertising a flea market in a neighbourhood town.

And the son is working at his computers, and the cat jumps back into the window.

A planless Sunday, so unrelaxing in it's aimlessness.
The Sunday walk may well be cancelled.
And the cat is looking for a marble to play with.