I knew when I awoke from my groggy sleep at 6:00 am this morning that I would linger in bed at most for another hour. My Protestant ethic had percolated and overtaken. Clocks to be wound; habits to be performed; cleansing and purification to attend. In fact it was pushing 7:30 am when I drew back the drapes and announced my ascent. We prepared ourselves for bicycling and were soon on the road. An early Sunday morning. Hot and humid already! Glorious summer weather!

Upon returning home I parked my bicycle near a stone post at the entrance to the patio. I dragged my carcass to one of the lounge chairs and redirected it into the sun. Then I sat down, removed my spectacles and put them in my shirt pocket, stretched my legs, relaxed my arms and faded into the ether. The birds chirped. The bees buzzed. A soft wind blew across my face. I was drifting.

It is for me the epitome of good luck to lounge fully clothed in the slanted early morning sunshine. First, it shows an entire disregard for cosmetics by enabling the radiation to surround a watch band. Second, fashion is a flippancy when confronted with woollen socks in the Top Siders. In all it expresses a conquest of pragmatism and simplicity in a world so often complicated by unnecessary detail.

Breakfast is always a delight! And I knew this morning that I would have a sweet and gooey butter tart from Beckwith Bakery.  That, the sliced green apple, a handful of prunes and a wedge of Champfleury cheese to complete the spread. And music, whatever worked from Apple Music, from Mozart and Handel to jazz.

The afternoon flight in the Aviator along the undulating ribbon of highway from Carleton Place to Stittsville to Arnprior was a soothing process as always! Windows open, roof back, that magic feeling, nowhere to go, nowhere to go. The Sunday traffic of motor boats and canoes. The burgeoning green fields wavering in the balmy wind. A remote mist upon the horizon. Calculating the cycles of life, the patterns of growth.

The air settled like a heavy cloud, warm and thick.