plucking daisies

Not sure which surprises more — that the angel was replaced, or someone read my note.

I know that makes no sense whatsoever so here's the skinny.

There's a little built-in shelf in the corner of the hallway just outside my door. Just large enough for a vase of flowers or such.

Long as I've lived here — {counts} five months, wow, impressive! — there's been this cute little gold angel sittin' there.

It looked something like this but reclining upright. And without the pole jabbed into the back. Which btw I figured is to hold placecards.

Every time I'd pass in and out, I'd look at it and smile inside.

Then one day about two weeks ago, it disappeared.

So I neatly tore a sheet of white copy paper into 1/4 size, took a red felt-broad-tipped pen, wrote: "Where'd the protective hallway angel go?! Fly back, fly back lil' angel! You're missed!" and taped it to the shelf.

Every day for those weeks I checked to see whether it was back.

All that stood was the sad note.

Then this morning afternoon after I got up and stepped out to feed the birds, I found this:

Well, not this exactly. Like this. Except in solid white porcelain. And the feet are stretched out, not propped up.

I'd post the pic but I don't have a camera  (having discovered the one on the used cell phone I bought doesn't work).

So that was nice of someone to do.

And just as nice that my note was read. Because I do feel usually that with my words I'm talking to no one but the wind.

* * *

It's one of those Pacific Northwest days so thick with gray, you could cut it with a knife.

When I pulled up the blinds this morning afternoon, immediately those opening words to a Simon & Garfunkel song sprung into my mind, like a musical page from an opened book:

A winter's day
In a deep and dark December

Not December but sure as heck could be …

* * *

This morning afternoon as I was brewing my coffee, I realized I miss my former coffee mug. A simple hand-painted sage green that broke.

My not-so-new-any-longer yellow mug with the butterflies was, I can see, an excellent and smart choice for its bright cheerful sunshiney yellow.

I remembered all the care I took in selecting the mug — returning to the Goodwill several times over till I found the right one. I have quite the eye for quality and I do not spend my limited dimes dumbly.

Still, a slight preference goes to the sage green mug because it looked a little more raw and handmade. Like the clay wasn't perfectly shaped. Whereas my current mug looks polished to perfection.

* * *

This is a day begging for a snowfall. The temp's cold enough, however, there's insufficient precipitation. Just passing flakes like dandruff being shed by the sky.

I could use some serious snow.
A third cup of coffee in my overly polished yet cheery coffee mug.
Some Simon and Garfunkel music.
And, shortly, some lingering sips of rye whiskey.

It's just that sorta Sunday. Like plucking daisies from the fields in the mind.

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