A day in which to be lazy

Tuesday August 17, 2004

I’ve sat here for twenty minutes, played seven games of solitaire (won 5, lost 2), and try as I may I can’t pull anything out of the day. Just a nice, lazy day.

I stood and chatted for a while with G., our countryman neighbour, helping him to watch the flames on his bonfire, and collecting a handful of beautiful tomatoes, fresh from the vine. I shall sizzle them in a little butter to have on toast for my breakfast tomorrow.

I watched the sky, filled with ragged cloud-galleons half wrecked from the stormy weather further inland, their sails drooping heavily, their masts broken and their course determined by wind rather than will.

I watched a handful of swallows on the wires, fewer each day now.

I admired a cock pheasant as he strutted across my garden from one field to the next—I wanted to write ‘strutted casually’ there, but that’s as controversial a joining as Ozymandias’ sneering frown; I’d have to work a lot harder to express that idea than to string a couple of lazy words together.

I threw stale bread down for the sparrows, who turned the path into a bacchanal of beak, claw and feather for a moment until every last crumb was gone.

And I leafed through a couple of books. Might have read something from them but not deeply, for I have no recollection of it now.

Sometimes it rained. Most of the time the sun shone.

That’s the extent and the limit of my memory for the day. I should have taken notes. Sometimes, though, the best thing you can do with a day is to be lazy in it. And that’s what I did.


Stickford, Aug,'04
Watching the flames



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