A brisk and burnished morning, one just shy of biting cold, one that says "come play with me" rather than "get your ass out of bed."
Idly, I wonder how much of what is done is done as a do-over -- connecting the dots that were never disconnected, as for example welding together day and night when day and night were never separated except in some delusional ego trip.
Two a.m. and two p.m. -- relax and it is all much more relaxing. And yet the do-over insists that each in his or her own time re-plow the plowed earth, search and discover and wonder that s/he ever put a hand to the plow: Recreating the universe in my own image, I learn that my own image really is a bit pushy, never mind foolish.
And yet, without the effort and investigation, things can seem a bit whopper-jawed. It may sound sensible -- "night" and "day" -- but where the one leaves off and the other begins doesn't compute very well. It can leave anyone edgy and seems to require a do-over to re-prove the proven axiom that could give a shit about all the proofs and smarmy lingo.
A do-over. Some seek to outflank or elude the effort, but it's no good. So, what the hell, you weren't doing anything anyway. Might as well straighten out the straightened bookshelf.
A crispy, brisky day. Come play with me.