[Sometime later…] I have a quick drink at my apartment with Emily, where there are books leftover on the table from the first half of the semester (see below).
As we quickly catch up, I tell her a story from the last two weeks of my life, saying, “Except that this would end up like the ending of The Graduate, I know. Except with Lana Del Rey playing in the background.” She laughs. I am a good host.
[That very same evening…] Our nuclear family gathers for cake; for Papa’s birthday. The cake is sugar free, as we have all given up sugar for the Lenten season. Mom always says how much she prefers the Lenten season to advent: she enjoys the suffering and self-sacrifice of Lent. She has never been one for extended baby showers.
We’re not even Catholic.
[The next day, maybe.] It’s daylight savings. Miss Williams texts, “Happy Ben Franklin’s brilliant idear,” and “The turkey believed in DST. The eagle thought it silly.”
Me: “I’m out enjoying all this daylight saved, daylight earned.”
[Four minutes before that text was sent…]
[Five hours before that tweet was twittered…]
[Friday.] The etymology of the day was panic.
I think of the Fisher King outside on my back deck. Fisher King, frightening the pots of dead herbs & twigs.
Think of it: it is almost time for planting. For new things to take root; to grow.
LDR is becoming incredibly pervasive. I think it’s time for tilling, sir.
Here’s to a bountiful harvest to come.
Pingback: The View Since Monday. | rarlington