Day of rest, the Lord’s day, Sunday go-to-meeting day, Dimanche, Domingo, Sonntag.
This little fella enjoyed his acorn omelet and rinsed it down with a splash of morning dew drops. He can’t stick around now—he has somewhere to be.
He looks youngish for his age though weathered from a lifetime of exposure to the elements. Sometimes I’ve seen him just chillin’ in the shade of the camellia leaves or the overgrown patch of mint in Grandma Cary’s flower bed. That was a pretty sweet gig for his first 36 years before migrating closer to the sunny SoCal coast. He’s been here in the baby tears for 22 years now. As is evidenced by his mottled coat, the cold then hot external temperatures have caused a few cracks here and there, slowing him down only a bit from his previous escapades and garden antics. He’s still got game and knows where to go and when.
In reality its his attitude that hasn’t weathered or weakened or withered. He’s always sunny and chipper as you’d imagine. He was made just that way and he never lost it.