A Sunday
It’s a Sunday of mild temps with a breeze strong enough to rattle a windchime in the northwest corner of the house.
Today, looking out the south windows of my bedroom porch, there is activity. The neighbor’s sunflower plants are and have been in full bloom for awhile. The stalks are strong enough that little birds perch on the bloom for a treat. Oh for the innocence of it all.
My bedroom porch is a combination of eight windows and two doors. Very little can get past me either looking out or keeping tabs on the inside of our dwelling. Sweet.
The grass is glistening this morning. The sump pump is running. Son-in-law Tom can be heard mowing the acre. All is right with the world.
Me? What am I up to. I have had a cup of coffee with some breakfast nourishment. I am dressed with my hair combed. I am on a roll. My stitching is laying on the 1960s sewing table under the south windows of my bedroom porch. The stitching is a monochromatic worked with black floss. I usually have magnetic markers laying in the formation of a “L” so I know where I left off. Hmm. I didn’t do that at the last Saturday stitch. I have been sitting here hunched over trying to discern where that “L” should have been placed . . . count, count, count. That winds up the gray matter for the day. All is not lost.
The neighborhood has a shingling job in the works. What great temps for that kind of work. It is a great feeling that our job jar of large projects would echo if a penny were dropped into it.
I have soft plans for this day. The week has met quite a few of my objectives. The best part is that none of them will need to be repeated, done and done. It is now on to the usual and customary.
Oh my goodness, there are several very yellow canary type birds enjoying some sunflower seeds.
With that I will take my leave. ♥