Laid in the hammock for the first time today and watched the blue sky through the backlit red leaves of the Japanese Maple tree while the water in the koi pond burbled and a breeze jangled the wind chimes. A buzzard circled high overhead. My hands ached from weeding and throbbed from stinging nettles up to my elbows and I had never felt better.
Got to work on a new painting.
Ate leftover braised chicken thighs in lemon with fennel and olives from Thomas Keller’s “Ad hoc at home” cook book that the woman on the verge brought home from the library yesterday.
Fuck me running, it were good.
I can feel my sap rising with the spring. Like a bear lumbering out into the sunlight after a long winter’s hibernation.
It feels like I’m coming back to life.
The house is spanking clean and filled with light and flowers and fresh air. Everything glows.
You get these days, you seize them. You jam them into your mouth and bite down and let the juice run down your chin and you gorge yourself on them until you are sick with it.
I raise my glass in a toast of thanks to the mindless unfolding of the great wheezing machine of life!