all evenings should end like this

8.30. wake up from nap, make sweet roasted corn. eat corn on the patio while reading a good book.

9.00. tramp into the park, across the arched stone bridge. walk past a wooden bench, and another one, until finding the seat I was thinking of: one built in partly around a circular stone patio tucked in a grove of trees. reading alternated with gazing over the pine trees at darkening sky and the houses built into the hill beyond.

9.30. bugs bit too much, so walk back home, lightly jogging downhill. evening dew wets the hem of my pants as I cross azalea way. bend to roll up my pants, the right and left leg asymmetric - I should be looking for clams on the beach. return over the mossy stone arches, past dogs fetching balls with their masters, and see the traffic lights turn red at the end of our block. the lights through the windows of the house blend into the fading light of the evenings.

not ready to return inside. linger on the patio, reading again and often looking up at the silhouette of the trees. I pull my fleece on. The light lingers in the northwest. move occasionally to keep the flood lights on. try to outstay the the sun, wait until its completely dark. the sun wins.

10.00. descend into the apartment, find fresh pajamas. step in the shower, neem and sandalwood fragrance of the soap. a warm towel to dry off, and chilled chocolate mousse in the fridge. I pick up my book again.