Pink Flowers, Late

I watched the first two installments of John Adams last night, and never got around to posting. So here it is, late.

These long dark evenings make it hard for me to get things done. My impulse is to bundle up, snuggle down, and watch TV until my mind rots. Instead of fighting the impulse, as in years past, this time around I'm indulging it, and I find myself immeasurably happier because of it. I let dishes pile up in the sink all week, then attack them on the weekend--usually during the day. I get all my chores done on Sunday.

These flowers caught my eye on a walk sometime this past summer. On Ellsworth Street, a few blocks from where I grew up. Their delicate pink pedals, framed so carefully by the deep green leaves, called out to be recorded, remembered. Noticed.