The kettle is on.
The shower is over.
The day is just beginning.
There is so much work to be done.
Did you see the moon last night?
There were several billion people roaming the earth.
The sun had set a couple hours back and the moon was perched on high.
Tribesmen in the hills of a distant country saw it.
Commuters on their way home, slouched up against the wall of busy trains, saw it.
They paused for a moment and took in the moon.
The day is nearly over.
It has delivered itself in dispatches.
First, the endless chores.
Second, the bewitching entertainments.
Third, the tales of others that came through to us from many portals through the day.
The mind is watching.
Doing its job.
There is so much to do.
There IS so much to do.
So much to listen to.
So much to discern.
The freight train leaves the station at a quarter past the hour.
It carries tomorrow's newspaper, crisp and warm from the presses.
The cat prowls the empty alley in all weathers.
The lover has so much to do to make the world whole again.
Everything that must be done comes in waves of inspiration and monotony.
The mind is an extraordinary instrument.
It can make even the dullest job meaningful.
There is not a moment to waste.
But nothing comes to soon.
"There is so much to do."
said the field mouse to the vole.
There is so much left unfinished said the master to the empty bowl.
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