Musing

7C/44F (high 16C), brilliant sunshine crossing rooftops to light leaves against a cloudless blue canvas, crisp moistness fills nostrils, Gusta frenetically sniffing every path, meeting new dogs, cats and rabbits – albeit only by their smelly trail

sleepy Sunday, sunshine streams in to welcome the day, first it stirs, stimulates, warms, wakes . . bidding adieu to a week passed – frenetically we leapt Monday to Monday, a step ahead of the clock, one task lock-step with the next, falling, heaped, spent

yesterday was a day of near triumph for me, coming second is nicer in a field of six is not sweeter than coming first in a field of two, but competition was spirited; a great morning of laughs gave way to some wonderful quiet time with PB punctuated with smiles like that; you know the kind of smile, the kind that warms you from cold, lights rooms in the dark, fills you up when you hunger, that touch you softly as you sleep – that kind

we all toil each day, mostly during the work week, but when we work to make a dollar or progress or a deal or a niche or a business, we must do it more for some reason or driving force than just for the value or worth of the doing, more for some internal measuring tool that drives our spirit; some strive for money, power, esteem – some work for the greater good, for society, for the downtrodden and the weak, some do it all for a noble cause, some do it just to get through the week

“The great question that has never been answered, and which I have not yet been able to answer, despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is ‘What does a woman want?’ “ – Sigmund Freud

Sigmund, I’ve been researching just as long and I think I’ve found the answer the eluded you, the answer is simply: a Sunday morning like this one that caps a week of time spent, drained, tangled mangled mussed and weary of everything and nothing at one moment; life leaves us tangled like spaghetti, work creates a bundle of curves and obstacles that jumble, leaving us in need of being smoothed soothed and stroked

maybe she wants more or less or different, maybe she wants different things on different days, but as long as PB smiles like that, I’ll consider myself smarter than Freud, luckier than most men and happy today

Mark Kolke
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