It's kind of relaxing in a very sad sort of way. Mild temps with the barest hint of a breeze. A perfect day for petanque. But there's no one around.
Rob did stop by while out on a bike ride. He's taken on a heavier work load as a result of changes in the company he works for and just needed a break and a little fresh air. We had a little chat. He's so reserved, you'd never know what a brainiac he is.
Maggie said she and Casey and Wolfie played for about half an hour yesterday afternoon. When was the last time you only played petanque for half an hour? We used to spend that long measuring or waiting in line for the shed.
But all was not quiet on the western front. Tim has torn rocks from the earth with his bare hands and with spit and elbow grease terraformed his back yard. Thor has nothing on our mountain of a man. If I were you, I'd think twice about looking crosseyed at him on the courts.
Stone walls confine a tinker; cold iron binds a witch; but a musician's music can never be fettered, for it lives first in her heart and mind. —Charles de Lint
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We were like the stones on that wall. No two alike, yet each one comfortable together and supporting one another. Each one alone with our own weight and shape, but when fitted along the wall, a thing with rhythm and flow, a song we never sang alone.
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