It’s Friday.
There was work today, so much that I didn’t stop for lunch. On a television in another office, weekly prayers in Tehran seemed loud amid what has until now been mostly silent upheaval. I imagine crowds swelling with hope again, day after day, along tree-lined boulevards in soft Persian afternoons. I think of peacocks. I think of what could be and what could not be.
Then upon returning home I continue with other tasks.
After a time I can rest. A breeze slams the door. The sun emerges from behind clouds although evening nears. Feels like a promise kept: Summer, too, is near.
Must go out again soon. We have a weekly sitting date.
A line from an old Chinese poem says, If you live in accordance with worldly affairs, you will have no obstructions.