it occurs to me there are days when a person can do everything right.
rise from bed at a reasonable hour.
eat a reasonable breakfast from the beloved blue-flowered bowl.
have a book for the train ride.
go to work.
go to the gym: move the body; refresh the blood.
meet a friend.
take in a scoop of mint ice cream. on a sugar cone.
take in a sweedish film on spur-of-the-moment-last-minute impulse.
enjoy all of the above.
but it is just one day.
a passing thing.
and so one must go to bed.
and pray that tomorrow will be better.
recognize that it might not be.
but hope that sadness doesn't begin to string the days together.
because it's that damn stringing that's worrisome.