Early on Sunday mornings is a great time to have a walk about the neighbourhood. Few people are about, except for the nice family who runs the gas station on the corner - they sell coffee and doughnuts.
I pick up a coffee and a doughnut and head through the side streets.
It's been a wet night, and the flowers and grass are covered with water drops.
Baby's eyes are open and we are walking around the neighbourhood watching birds and squirrels and seeing how people landscape their front lawns and tend their gardens in hope that good ideas are retained after the walk.
I arrive at the bench I claim each weekend morning, and open up my camping chair on it.
The kind without legs, the kind that simply folds open and provides foam backing and seat. Baby has fallen asleep by now.
Arranging my coffee and my two books and BlackBerry to my left, I survey the park and see that all is well.
The weeds are all gone still, but I'll muddle through somehow.
I finish the last chapter of my first book - a book on psychoanalysis. This I tuck into the bottom of the stroller, and open up my next book.
I have read two books of this author in the last two weeks, and I am excited to see how this begins. A book on spying - an ex-British MI6 agent, or ex-so-he-thinks. Hard to put the book down, but I decide now to take photographs of plants about the park. Baby stays asleep while I push him close to the plants I photograph.
I see Belladonna, and that accursed fungus that I cannot identify, among others.
And now it is time to return home, and feed the little one his morning cereal.
Cheers,
Mungo
