And this is how things go.
Arise, usually, around 5
make a slow cooked bowl of porridge
with fruit or compote
a soothing bergamot infused tea
I sip and compliment the cup.
Hubby has
coffee brought to him
in bed.
depending upon the satisfactoriness
or otherwise, of slumber
I read or find something
on I Player, to go down easily
without frisson or demand.
7.00 am, shower and relocate,
where do I go to? its where I
zoom zazen, with rituals plus
a brief codicil of 'I'm OK', concluding
daily devotion.
Hubby makes coffee
we take a walk
together, hither.
weekends divest themselves of
weekdays, the latter being
workdays, Hubby sewing or
computes, whilst outside
in the petite dark workshop.
Is where I remake the world
in small steps, utilising slow sandpaper
transformations, consume the hours,
concentration and the curses
preceding victory.
11am
genmaicha tea
with buttered crumpets.
Working hours run on
til lunch tuck, when
the post prandial nappette
drugs my sluggish return
to making mode
I tend to grind my teeth
over dinner, daily briefings
news upon a pandemonium
Trump's daily tantrum
and the worldwide litany of deaths
We scour Netflix for a passable evening,
a two hour distraction, a read,
or be a proactive buddhist
with a wall of frames, containing
familiar faces, in unfamiliar rooms.
9 pm, as slumber
beckons to bed reading, a few pages more
of Hilary Mantel's historical brick
til the spine cleft drops on my face
and its goodnight Hubby.
kiss, kiss, kiss.
And this is how things go.
Arise, usually, around 5
make a slow cooked bowl of porridge
with fruit or compote
a soothing bergamot infused tea
I sip and compliment the cup.
Hubby has
coffee brought to him
in bed.
depending upon the satisfactoriness
or otherwise, of slumber
I read or find something
on I Player, to go down easily
without frisson or demand.
7.00 am, shower and relocate,
where do I go to? its where I
zoom zazen, with rituals plus
a brief codicil of 'I'm OK', concluding
daily devotion.
Hubby makes coffee
we take a walk
together, hither.
weekends divest themselves of
weekdays, the latter being
workdays, Hubby sewing or
computes, whilst outside
in the petite dark workshop.
Is where I remake the world
in small steps, utilising slow sandpaper
transformations, consume the hours,
concentration and the curses
preceding victory.
11am
genmaicha tea
with buttered crumpets.
Working hours run on
til lunch tuck, when
the post prandial nappette
drugs my sluggish return
to making mode
I tend to grind my teeth
over dinner, daily briefings
news upon a pandemonium
Trump's daily tantrum
and the worldwide litany of deaths
We scour Netflix for a passable evening,
a two hour distraction, a read,
or be a proactive buddhist
with a wall of frames, containing
familiar faces, in unfamiliar rooms.
9 pm, as slumber
beckons to bed reading, a few pages more
of Hilary Mantel's historical brick
til the spine cleft drops on my face
and its goodnight Hubby.
kiss, kiss, kiss.
And this is how things go.
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