Somedays just want to be enjoyed, a breezy Spring day, full of new green – the pale soft new green full of new sun and new waters – on a new breeze.
Someday, with the sun at the appropriate inclination, the ground at the appropriate warmth, the wind at the appropriate breeziness, the picnic table appropriately leveled (to keep our bombs from falling off), the fears appropriately displaced, for now…maybe.
Someday fancihatted twisted crazies might just take a walk, not searching for anything, not for some personal goal, just a walk, some wandering in the breeze for now.
Someday just a picnic ( like We had offered at first) no drama, just a breeze and some nibbles awaiting nothing, nothing, nothing…without the turbulent gyrating synoptic folderol (okay maybe with some pleasant wine or cool frothy beer).
Somedays we remember we now eat the harvest we saw six months ago, now it is plowing, tilling, seeding time, six months from now another harvest.
Someday, maybe this day will be remembered; opening the flaps of the tent, airing it out: letting the breeze do what we can’t…move the past onto someplace other than…now.
Someday to maybe just take a walk, for now, will a picnic just be there?
Anachronistic Anarchist by Herb Eaton 