November 11th. Remembrance Day. And how fitting that I’m half way through Vera Brittain’s World War I memoir, Testament of Youth. Carl is still recovering from bronchitis, so we didn’t wander very far today. In the afternoon we sat outside and enjoyed the unseasonably warm weather that blew in yesterday evening.
It’s always strange to me how different it feels—even if the thermometer reads the same—when the ground is cold but the breeze is warm and when the earth is still sunbaked but the air has suddenly turned cool. Today was the former. It felt like spring.
I lay down beach towels and a basket full of toys for Iris, so of course she instantly scuttled to the edge of the towel and started playing with the dry leaves. I snapped the picture above when Carl came outside and she first caught sight of him.
Carl sketched and I read. Until Iris got bored, and then it was play time.
But nothing a little basking can’t fix. An afternoon glow. A few dozen pages. A happily shrieking baby. We lounge to live another day.