My friend said, "Some days I don't do much of anything." I was shocked, but yesterday I didn't do much of anything--a day without ambition. After breakfast I mopped the kitchen floor. By eleven thirty J. and I were at the Epicure for brunch. I took my ticket at the counter, number 25, and waited my turn. Only one person had the skill to slice sable--"It's carp," my friend M. would say--and I had to wait until he was free. J. ate chicken salad. We talked about our family's coming visit.
After a siesta--I slept deeply enough to dream--we walked to South Point Park, stopping at our allotment at the community garden on Collins, below Fifth Street. The bok choy has tripled in size. J. dead-headed the marigolds.
The wind was fierce as we walked past the tall buildings at the point but quieted down once we got clear of them. A cruise ship passed.
I studied the patterns in the stone.
And appreciated the people dressed all in white.
There was a wedding on the beach.
The lovers wrapped themselves around each other.
The surfer rose on a wave.
We walked along the shore and came home.
