I am reading Walden by Thoreau. I thought I had read it for a college class, but I must have skipped it, or at least forgotten it.
It is, of course, beautiful. And as the frost bites and my son tells me that he is afraid of the cold dark at 4pm, I remember our long, long summers thanks to my parental leave days. And while they are not as quiet as the summers I managed to steal when single, they are all the more alive …
Many a forenoon have I stolen away, preferring to spend thus the most valued part of the day; for I was rich, if not in money, in sunny hours and summer days, and spent them lavishly; nor do I regret that I did not waste more of them in the workshop or the teacher’s desk.