Epicurian evening

Three days in a row I have finally found my summer pace. The climate has helped a lot: we're having a long dry spell, an unprecedented heat, the kind that forces you to slow down. So I found the right pace, one thing at a time, including time for myself and by myself. After spending much time in the garden yesterday in spite of the heat, carefully and slowly tending it, I decided to stop to enjoy it. So I set myself on my bench under the arbor with some French dry goat cheese I found at the coop, some crackers, pickles, and a cool glass of white wine. I delected in that treat, mouthful by mouthful, rinsing the cheese every now and then with wine, then I slowly rolled myself a cigarette of my favorite tobacco, and looked at the garden, still wet, as I had to water it several times. Looked at the work accomplished, and pondered about the one remaining to be done, not in a frantic, overwrought way, but as a constructive, creative, anticipative pleasure. Butterflies, hummingbirds, and bugs of all kinds were at a feast. Everything was suspended, as if time had stopped, indefinitely prolonging siesta time. I picked up a book and lied down onthe bench to read,with cushions in my back. People say the good times always pass too fast, it's not always true. That evening, as most these days, -it's that time of the year-, are endless. Time is not an obsession any more. You just live the moment, and you're glad it's infinite.