I didn't get a picture of this last Sunday. I don't think I even knew it was a Sunday till late in the evening, crawling into bed. I like that about the slow days before the new year. It was a nice one though, golly did it have it's moments.
There was afternoon light streaming in the old sash-window, sharing wine out of a dirty glass and the hours fading past, soft cotton sheets, some talk about poetry and a bit of truth-telling, some nice laughs. I like friends who are honest with me and honest with themselves. It was a sweet old time.