“Days off are the stuff of myth and fable. Stories told to kids and the faded memories of older people.”
I made this statement in conversation to my wife. Life is too short. Too busy. Too crammed and cramped. Time seems to leak away like a smashed hour glass, grain pouring over grain. I’m not alone in this. I don’t know anyone who professes that plenty of time exists and that they have great difficulty in filling their day. We’re all that little bit busier, little bit more rushed. The labour saving promises of technology appearing to offer the precise reverse.
Today is a ‘day off’. A day pocked with tasks and commitments, set to rush to a dizzying conclusion. But at some point, at some point, I’m going to acquaint myself with my bike, spin its cranks and feel the wind pierce the vent on my helmet, allowing spirits to lift. For it’s 150+ years of existence, the bike has changed barely at all, any improvements made at the fringes and felt only intermittently. It is still the place where we travel at our own pace, largely unhindered, mostly reliable, drinking in the sights and experiencing sensations. I need a little bit of that today, even if it is just a little.
The picture? oh that. It’s a crow taking flight over a Northern rooftop. A photo taken during an invented competition to keep my nephew and nieces busy as boredom ‘threatened’, a state brandished like a stick to threaten parents, aunties, uncles and guardians. The one hour spent gathering memories felt much longer; a rare glimpse of life without the burdens of schedule.