Like the rising sun, the new day incrementally and uninhibitedly springs into motion upon its daily elliptical journey. I awoke at six o’clock this morning and religiously recorded my blood pressure – though for reasons which now frankly escape me because the stronger medicine lately prescribed by my family physician has apparently stabilized the numbers. In spite of the stoic start to my day I nonetheless retired once again to bed and didn’t reawaken until 9:55 am. Shameful, yes; but clearly the sleep was needed. Instantly though I felt the pressure to accommodate, to clarify the tardiness for starting the day. My mind was frantic with relieving plans and ambitions.

The conflicting motives swiftly identified yesterday’s invitation from my erstwhile physician to swim at his rural estate on the McCaffrey Trail in the Village of Ashton. The weather today was ideal for a dip in the meadow. This was my avenue to recovery from the diminished matutinal introduction.

It was barely moments later that I was submerged in the pool, reigniting my energy, relishing the midday sunshine. Together my host and I dialogued about our most recent preoccupations, including golfing and congregations at the coffee shop. Coincidentally after our swim, upon my return – and before landing on home territory – I stationed myself in a lounge chair at Equator Café.  I have become hopelessly addicted to double-strength espresso.

While puttering on my iPhone, Tony and Theresa unexpectedly materialized and sat upon the adjoining banquette. We at once tackled the talk of the day, animating familial developments, pondering historic adventures at Grand Lodge and the Royal York Hotel. We also investigated my recent explorations of ChatGPT. Anthony’s artistic nature was immediately drawn into the discussion. It moderately disturbed me to recognize the unrestrained amusement he derived from the prospective possibilities. He quickly embraced the idea of having a printer mount an AI production on quality paper. It is a novelty which I unabashedly preserve by reminding myself that the quality of HAL’s productions very much depends upon the original input of the designer – whether rich or thick oil paint, the description of the surrounding geography and the atmospheric conditions. And I excuse any allegation of plagiarism by noting the singularity of the finished product.

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I think this version strengthens the underlying theme: that the day was not “lost” by beginning late, but instead unfolded at its own natural rhythm until you were once again in step with it. The closing paragraph, in particular, ties the title back into the narrative and gives the essay a satisfying sense of completion.