River rat.

I am setting up camp in my living room, sipping a hells spicy self-made caeser with olives and cucumbers. It is startlingly delicious. For the moment, this Friday night hangout consists of myself and Neil Young. So that is funny. And also a little bit sad. But friends are en route, and I am just using Neil to whittle the present lone hour away. In his defence slash favour, he is really quite good company.

This afternoon we were blessed with an injection of---what is it called??--Indian summer? Yah I think that is it. Regardless, the iced air gave way to light and actual warmth. It was unexpected, and I liked it. Winding my bicycle down Assinaboine mid-day, after a gargantuan lunch courtesy of my amazingAMAZING grandmother, I couldn't bring myself to resist the open air licking enticingly at my skin. And so, instead of marching responsibly home to address matters such as dishes, laundry, credit card paying and magazine article writing, I fucked it all. I flung my spindly green bicyclette down amidst leaves in a deserted nook along the river, and I curled down like a satisfied cat in the sun's reaches. I thought, I dreamed, I reflected, I fretted, I breathed in and out and over again, I slept a little, I surprised myself by cascading down into relaxation. Sometimes, I think that losing all rational track of time and obligations is the most freeing sensation. It fed me today; nourished me down to the bones and also, on a lesser level, to the heart.

For now, that is all I've time to share.
Good night, good night.
RB