midweek

Since Ed hasn't been up for tennis following his bout of whatever it is that he was bouting with and since I haven't the proper hours to scoot to yoga, that recent feeling of strength and flexibility from past weeks has receded. Lethargy is like an invasive plant that you can't control: it spreads quickly, to every muscle, every pore, so that before you know it, you are the quintessential baked Idaho on the sofa, the sloth that dangles but never goes anywhere, the bear that's just discovered it's favorite lair.

Fearing a rapid decline into nothingness, I forced myself this morning to get out of the house much earlier so that I could bike to work. Only the second time this school year. (I do offer this excuse: biking is an hour each way. Rosie is less than half that.)

It was a gorgeous day for it. From the very first sunny minute (at the breakfast table of course).






It's not porch eating weather anymore, but had we been out on the porch, we would have been assailed by the brilliance of the day.








On the ride in, I had to pause. I mean, the spent golden world looks mighty good against that richly blue sky.








The lakes are ripply, the wind picks up here and there -- all in all, I feel strong and able out on the bike again.







After work, I pedal home. Leisurely. You can't rush at the end of a day. For one thing, you haven't the oomph to rush anything.






Ed had been working on the rotted wood in the overhang in the west dormer. After, he hides under a quilt that I keep on the couch for the likes of him. And under Isis.






He has enough strength for one last Wednesday night bike ride for the year, but not a penny more. At home, he leans back in tired half sleep. We'll see how bouncy he is in the days ahead. I'll settle for a wimpy bounce. So that I quit worrying about that lovely but tired face of his.