Monday in Poland

In times when nothing's happening I stop everything.

A little trick I learned when I turned sixty.

First, I open the back door, not the front door, and let whatever's happened out there last night in, just to verify there's nothing really new.

And there never is. Not really.

It's not bleak, it's anything but bleak. There are any number of things to see and to hear, beautiful trees and sweet little birds who seem happy to be on the ground instead of in-flight, scuttling through the bushes beneath the trees looking for food.