Edges

It isn't Friday night. But there is music, the evening bath, mosquitoes, yet again. I do not like them. I like watching blinds turning reddish-orange during sunset. It happens only for a month or so during the year. When the day ended and my eyelids became heavy, I remembered the photo taken this morning and took another. I am not sure when or how this odd silly idea was conceived but I like being a spectator.

When there are many diverse tasks to be completed during the day, I make a list and erase them as they get done. Unlike most other days, a few items on today's list remain. The rides were uncompromising and made me hungry. The few hours with the idiot box gave me a bit to laugh about. One hundred years... is a metaphor. Within all its surreal and mythical elements, and the Magic Realism is stuff too scientific to be the kind of literature I like. But there will be a re-read sometime.