He sat resolute, a splash of neon green against the dull metal mailbox, filament antenna conducting a hushed symphony of the wind; but his thick haunches and serrated legs never tensed for motion because he somehow knew I would rather wait another day to get my mail than to disturb him. Things are winding down at work in the eave of an intense ramp up and I’m finding myself falling back into structureless efforts and bad habits as if my child is grabbing all the candy he can before it is time for veggies again.