This young bot seems to have gone on holiday with self-improvement in mind - to the point of bringing a wrench along.
For a while, it felt as though everyone were bent on reading about self-improvement... to the extent that I wondered if being seen without such a book might imply I felt myself to be beyond improvement? Surely not, I hoped.
I remember as children, my mom would somehow direct all four of us us to get teeth brushed, pyjamas on, squabbling put aside for another day - as the summer evening cooled and light dimmed, everything in the room growing soft-edged as the day came to an end in song. I wonder now if this might have been the one thing my mom could think of that would get us all focused on something other than the adventures (or grievances?) of the day, our thoughts harmonizing with voices, slowly feeling more and more ready for sleep.
One of the songs invited Night herself to come cover the singer with her hands, so that with rest, one would be better tomorrow than today, confident that today one had been better than yesterday. A simple melodious declaration of intent which seems to fit well with liquid summer evenings deepening now like ripening wine into flavourful memory to be sipped, and enjoyed. The simple intent felt clear enough, years after, that complicated books didn't seem to offer much that would be more substantial.
I hope to get to a colour version later in the week. But if not, it's because I took the time instead to sit on the back porch and marvel at the slide of day into evening, intent into memory, and song into starlight.
