A Flourish of Orange and Red…

Dawn arrives with a flourish of oranges and reds on the horizon revealing a heavily frost covered landscape. Old man winter decided to pay a visit overnight and the morning is brutally cold. I wrap my heavy coat around me tightly and pull my wool toboggan down over my ears. I am so obsessive compulsive that even the coldest morning of the year will not deter me from my morning walk.
At the table beside me sits an elderly couple. I notice they pray very visibly before starting their meal of eggs, bacon, grits, and toast. Such a blatant show of religiosity would embarrass me deeply I remark.
I finally walk six miles. I am only about ten minutes away from home when I make a detour for the diner with thoughts of hot coffee upon my mind. I step inside to the almost blustery hot confines to find a scattering of people sitting around eating breakfast. In one corner sits a gruff looking railroad crew heartily eating and boisterously talking. I wonder where they are headed today upon the rails after their meal. It invokes the wanderlust within me.

I pull off my cap and sit down with that hot coffee in hand as I warm up and watch the world unfold around me. At the table beside me sits an elderly couple. I notice they pray very visibly before starting their meal of eggs, bacon, grits, and toast. Such a blatant show of religiosity would embarrass me deeply I remark. The old woman scolds her husband for not putting a napkin in his lap like a mother hen. It reminds me of my own experiences with being married to an overbearing wife. He sullenly complies and unfurls the napkin upon his legs as he begins to eat, too tired looking and broken by years of marriage to contest.

I finish my coffee and walk over for a refill. I carefully pour in cream and sugar to give the coffee an appearance of caramel. I step back out into the cold morning air as my warm breath condenses and bellows out in great drafts of steam. I head for home.

As I walk, I remember the often said remark that people live lives of quiet desperation as I often have during these long years of adulthood. It brings to mind that elderly hen pecked fellow and his stodgy and overbearing wife. “What a saint,” I remark of him as I walk. I am glad to report that I am living a life of unbridled joy and exuberant adulation these days. I only have one day at a time to live and what a glorious one morning it was.