All Things Profane and Sacred

I feel like I've been living my days in some hazy pleasant song. The sun is shining, the leaves are dropping gently to the ground in a golden, well, I guess shower would be the appropriate word, if not for the unpleasant connotation. Lusty October, with its smoky air and frosty mornings.

Windy days at the coast, walking along the sand, getting high on a driftwood log and spending hours staring out at the eternal ocean. Climing up on a rocky outcrop to watch the sun drop behind the clouds. Wrapped up in the day and the company and the fantastic sense of being.

Lazy Saturdays spent in bed, listing to NPR, eating lavish breakfasts and then showering off the morning. Dancing sock footed in the kitchen. Making coffee in long underwear.

Does knowing that these things are about as tritely pukingly cutely romantic as you can get change their essential nature?