The days have turned cold and short. The air is chilly and the sun is setting at some ridiculous hour, maybe 5pm? I was on BART this evening coming back from working on the boat in Alameda, and as we sped along the tracks the darkening sky turned shades of muted purple and burnt orange. I find myself noting the progress of my life by the seasons and the sunlight. This many seasonal cycles since I moved to this apartment; that many went by when I was at the last apartment. But over time they blur some. I don’t remember the rains and the sunlight in the same detail from five years ago, or ten.

Today was a day of time to myself, time to think things through, time to not make any plans with deadlines. Today was a time to just let the day itself provide the flow to me; usually I am driven by the entries on my calendar, the days becoming collections of scheduled pearls connected with strings of sleep that are usually too short and thin to support them all.

I walked down to BART and took the train across. I walked to Alameda. I stopped for lunch and then walked to the marina. I ran the engine, charged the batteries, flaked the sails, hosed everything down, checked the bilge and sea cocks and enjoyed the clear afternoon air. Some other sailboats were out, flying their 150s and spinnakers in the light winds and gliding across the calm water. I walked back to BART. I rode back across. I dragged my weary self up the hill to my apartment. The radiator is on, the space is warm, the music is playing, the dinner has been consumed. I’m online, reading, writing and pondering.

So another Sunday night. The laundry is in the machine, the groceries are put away, the checkbook is balanced and the calendar has been updated.