It’s the sound of my childhood.
The sound of a hammer, echoing out from a storefront building.
It is what I equate with being seven and living in London.
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Workers hammer away.
In two or three storied places somewhere off Park Lane in Mayfair.
As my brothers and I walked to and from our bus stop, going to and from our school in Hyde Park.
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When I hear hammers hitting nails, I consider it romantic and blue collar and creative. All tied into one.
Oh, sure, it’s a wee bit Hallmark.
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And, though not in London, the distance sound of a hammer-at-work waving in through this open living room window …
A window opened to autumnal-like summer morning in a seaside town, just across the Severn River from Cardiff …
Well, let’s just put it this way …
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For the past hour or so, I have been in a state of feeling proudly and sublimely connected.
How lovely is this feeling?
On a scale of 1 to 10 of Lovely. I’m giving it a solid 17.8.
And about time too.
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Ah, now.
See, THIS is what I have been missing.
And THIS is how I wish my every work week could begin.
Not to jump ahead, I’ll bask in this one for all its worth.
Happy Monday.