It's cool outside. The Colonel checked at dawn, sitting on the front porch and listening to the birds announce another day; a strong cup of coffee warming him and clearing the fog of sleep.
It won't stay cool. The brief respite from the swelter of summer is over. It'll be hot and humid before too long, this morning.
There's a pile of projects waiting completion. Seems the Colonel's re-retirement is less restful than ever, what with the frantic folly of filling his time with all the things he didn't have time for when all he could do was dream about having time to do them.
But, it's foggy still; and cool outside; and the Colonel remembers the dream of being able to just do nothing.
Watch the hummingbirds gang up to fill up.
Listen to the mourning doves mourn.
See the sun rise red and filtered by the gray mists of morning.
Catch the scent of flowers advertising.
It'll be hot and humid soon; reminding of long marches in the sun, and times when the march was all there was.
No more marches.
Just memories by the score, and no scorecard to keep 'em straight.