Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Sixty-Five
Consistency.
Watching the color of the morning.
I round the curve, and that last bit of fog is thinning, and the sunrise is breaking through the trees, and it looks like a dream. Or like a Thomas Cole painting.
He’s a no-show again, and that means I need to find another option.
Oooops.
I leave the meeting less angry than I thought I would be, which adds to my good mood when I meet him for lunch. Pulled mozzarella and insalata de pollo. A lemonade. It’s been too long.
I stop in the olive oil shop to buy oil and vinegar for my lunch salads—and to talk about the kid. A dad walks in, overhears me talking about my basketball team, and says I need to convince his daughter to play. I walk through the screen door, feeling full of gratitude.
This isn't anything I ever dreamed of for myself, but I love so much of it.
I tell him that all of my meetings went so well today. Just great, really.
Really can’t beat these football sunsets.
