Blue Skies

The skies are blue; the air is fresh and crisp. I strolled to the post office on my lunch hour, a slow saunter taking in the warmth of the bright sun, a pace slow enough to maintain 15 minutes of Vitamin D absorption and the prescribed amount of antidepressant daylight.

It seemed everyone in town had emerged from their dark shelters between storms. With seven days left until Christmas, the parking lots were crammed with frantic shoppers vying for spaces. I meandered through the traffic smug at not having to seek a spot.

I moseyed past the long line winding out the door at the post office. Moms wielded towers of cardboard boxes, clinging toddlers dragging at their feet. A blue haired lady pleaded with the clerk to send her string tied packages and then counted out small change to pay the postage. Business suited people stood in line, arms crossed, fingers and toes tapping in aggravation.

I peered into my empty mailbox, not that I expected anything. The bills from my meager online Christmas shopping wouldn’t be here before the New Year. I certainly haven’t sent off bundles of Christmas card joy to elicit bundles of obligatory Christmas responses.

Ambling back to work I glanced towards Mount Diablo hidden under a hat of clouds, a sure sign the next storm is brewing.