Sunday, September 11, 2011

the rest of the day

It couldn’t be just a regular Sunday. Even as it was so predictable, that I could have written its script days ago. We work – each in our own way. And we sink into the quiet of the day. It's what we want.

We bike a little too. A short distance.  To the café and back. 7.51 miles. That’s a nothing ride. Good nonetheless.

Eventually, I cook and Ed scrapes paint off the boards near the roof of the farmhouse.


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Warm, it is warm. When my daughter comes for Sunday dinner, we take our food out to the porch again.


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And it's a good day to turn some of the plums into plum ice cream.


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Perhaps not a normal day. But warm. Inside and out.

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