Waste is such a big word |
I slept way past noon on another Saturday. I should have complained about it being wasted. I wanted to clean the house, write some poetry, cook dinner. I sat down at the computer, the way I all too frequently do. A pop up message came, from my neighbor 'bluetoo.' "Have you seen the snow? There is more than the October storm already." I looked out the door, at the snow that rounded edges and made all tranquil, soft, quiet, and muted. I slept in way past noon on another Saturday. I should have complained about wasted time. I put on boots, jacket, hat, gloves, scarf and started out to take some pictures. Rabbits ran from beneath snow laden bushes. Birds fluttered from their sanctuary under abandoned and rusted farm equipment, as I clicked away with my little camera. I trudged along and kicked through snow, until I got to the store for bread, pretzels, and movies. My face slowly warmed. I noticed the burning on my cheeks and thought how like Robert Frost, I had miles to go before returning home. I wandered out the door, bag in hand, camera in my pocket, looking for more photo opportunities on my way home. I slept in way past noon. It was another Saturday. How could I complain about time so nobly wasted? |