When I was walking to the station from my friend's house, it was a little after 3:00 and so there was still some daylight before the sun disappeared and darkness arrived at the early hour of 4:00. Enough daylight for me to take my time, to peek in the shops, to notice the fallen yellow leaves in the church yard, to listen to the heels of my boots on the stones, to slowly fill my lungs with the chilly air and exhale warmth.
The pub in question is called Waxy O'Connors. Across the street is a bar called Waxy's Little Sister. The rain began just as I arrived but inside was warm and friendly and we passed the hours with a couple friends of his in a little nook, drinking champagne and Guinness, enjoying conversation, laughter, a bit of flirting, and fish and chips for dinner. Four people in a warm little pub off a little square in a big rainy city. Who likes a night like that? I do.
What day is it anyway? The clock on my laptop says it's 10:44 p.m. which is Friday night. That's fine if I were in Houston but over here it translates to 4:44 in the morning, Saturday morning. Yawn. I woke up about an hour ago and that was that, I'm up. At this moment, I'm sitting on the couch in the living room, lights on dim, a single candle glowing on the coffee table. My feet are propped up on the same table. A steaming cup of tea beside them. My laptop is on my lap serving double duty of convenience and warmth. I've got my ipod in my ears and I'm listening to some Christmas music I mixed into the mix before I left. It's perfectly still and both the solitude and the hour are unusual gifts.
As far as moments go, this one is a yummy dollop of whipped cream atop an equally yummy day.
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