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.
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.