where the writers are
A Solid Day

The mind traps some days in its tar pits.  Events harden and fossilize, and are dug up and investigated later, again, again, in ongoing personal archeology digs.  Reconstructing the fossils for clues about what happened, we try to remember and understand who we are.

But are other days come by like pages in a book, just as permanent and needed but not as significant.  Days of doing routines, passing through life's phases, enjoying the lack of stress and the sense of living. 

Today was one of those solid days.  Writing, walking, cleaning, doing chores.  The weather finally lived up to its fall billing.  I played football on days like this when I was a young teenager, the smell of burning wood wafting out of chimneys, blending with our sweat's stink.  That energy drifted in on the fall weather today, rejuvenating and invigorating me. 

The day won't be remembered and that's why it's special.  Sometimes you just need days that are lived and forgotten.