I wonder

I sit back, my hands behind my head.  

I've finished the fruit toast and cinnamon butter (I shouldn't have added strawberry jam despite the fact I usually like it). The taste of strong coffee lingers at the back of my tongue, the cup empty before me. 

It brings with it a feeling of loneliness. 

The novel I'm reading lies closed beneath my glasses (the magnifying kind). It has drawn a past from me, one of meditation, Gregorian chant and chapel, of routine, time-managed days. I'm not sure I like it or warm to it. It’s called "Stone Yard Devotional” by Charlotte Wood and is set on the uplands of the Monaro in NSW. I picked it up on a whim. I feel something in it is calling to me.

Cafe patrons chatter and clatter around me but I seem able to avoid the intrusion that suggests. I text a friend, long not seen or spoken with, who has taken the time to reach out; also my brother.

The day seems to be rolling gently towards some sort of revelation, or perhaps restlessness.

However, the yearning only grows more intense. 

This morning, the hike through the bush and to the top of the hill at Mt. Cannibal, strenuous in parts but  rewarding, served to launch me forward to a rendezvous with destiny (a movable feast at the best of times). I've no idea what that is. If it is.

Lead bottomed clouds move languidly before a soft breeze, their destiny melting, altering with each glance.

Days like this appear out of the blue. They make me wonder ...