While Dropping-Off to Sleep...But Not Quick Enough

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 While Dropping-Off to Sleep...but not Quick Enough


While dropping-off to sleep, of which I’ve had little lately,

My mind mined this peculiar factoid...

I’m now 75, of English extraction.

I guess that makes me “Olde English.”

So my hair’s not gray, with an “a,” the American spelling.

Nor is it grey, with an “e,” the English version.

I googled the Olde English spelling of grey.

It’s graeg.

So I’m a graeg olde man.


Here’s my schedule for the week with the names of the days in Olde English…


Sunnandaeg. Sun’s day…wishful thinking…it’s rain, sleet, black ice…I skated down the road on my walk, then wrote.


Monandaeg. Moon’s day…if it’s warm…the snow’s melting…I will walk and write about that slice of green cheese in the night sky.


Tiw’s day. Tiw, a one-handed god…sounds like me, the one-fingered typist…I will walk and write with blazing speed with my right index finger.


Wodnesdaeg. Woden, the chief god of wisdom and, paradoxically, also of war…I will walk and write wisely about peace.


Thordaeg. Thor, Woden’s son, god of thunder and comic book hero…I will walk and write about Woden wising-up and proclaiming peace so his son doesn't have to go to war.


Frigedaeg. Frige, goddess of, what do you know, love…I will walk and write about that.


Saturn's day. Saturn, god of plenty and peace…it took all week, but we humans finally got around to peace and love… I guess we’re evolving beyond the ape…you guessed it: I’ll walk and write a little happier with that thought. 


 

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