Thursday, August 9, 2012

"Birdsong" by Sebastian Faulks

It was a reading day yesterday. Hours of reading.

A vacation day in summer like ones I had spent as a child. One book – and a library book at that! – through the afternoon and into the evening.

On a couch with a fan on low and windows open onto a sunny August neighborhood. A glass of water, refilled from time to time.

Walking shorts and t-shirt, sandals off, feet up.

The occasional doze, a makeshift bookmark keeping the spot.

A dinner break, lemon wedges in a white beer, carrots and celery and onion on the cutting board, seasoning for the simple fare easily heated and quickly eaten.

Dishwasher on.

A determination to get within a hundred pages of the end of the book by bedtime and lights out. Made it to only sixty pages left for today.

And I don’t want to start until lunch with a friend is over and the few necessary hours can roll by with little to distract me.

A book to hold at its conclusion and lay beside me on the sheets as another summer sleep comes on.

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