Bookmark #606

I woke up today and brewed a rather strong cup of coffee, only to get nothing done. I got back in bed under the warm quilt and read a few pages from the book beside my pillow. A blade of sunlight suddenly appeared over the wooden floor, and I noticed it was not the usual bright yellow splat. It was amber—as if someone had tinted the sky red, and it remained this way for the remainder of the afternoon. I spent the day as one should spend a free day. That is to say: I did little; I talked to friends over the phone, vacuumed and dusted the apartment, and hung some art on my bedroom wall. When the sun began to set, the city unfurled a reddish-orange quilt over the otherwise cold evening. I met someone for coffee and talked about the things you talk about when you meet someone for coffee for the first time. Then, I walked home and ended the day with an uneventful dinner.

This day has felt like a surprisingly good glass of rosé. You know what to expect, but it still manages to make its mark and makes you pause and comment on it. As if by some magic, or maybe through my negligible but valiant attempt to get my days in order, I seem to have gathered my spirits back. I walked back home with a smile on my face today, and if someone had stopped me and asked me why I was smiling, I would’ve simply told them to look around at the golden glow of the vermillion sun. Is there any other reason to be happy? I looked around as I walked back home. There were trees in the neighbourhood still. I lost sight of them for a bit, as one often does when one is not looking up as often, but we must all look up. I would have asked the stranger who stopped me, if they had, to look up as well. There is so much we miss when we are always looking down on things. There is little else to say, for not much happened. It was all as it was intended.

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