Today, another strange awakening, too early by far, and then just a collapse after breakfast, a delicious sleep after coffee and poached egg on toast. The sequence of things is going away, being replaced by odd desires and commitments. The italian place will sell one less coffee today.
Wait for the post, the big package with the photographs arrives. They are black and white prints on photographic paper, and they are quite nice. Write a greeting note, repack them and buy a postage label online. Stick it on, gather the rest of the mail, and go to the post office. Give them to the woman behind the counter and return home to pick up the forgotten camera.
It is twelve days until the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. But it is getting dark so early now, at four in the afternoon walking along the river it is already dim and miserable. But it is a nice little walk, the days minimum due. Nine kilometres is not so far, but it is better than nothing.
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