Today, the weather was as perfect as a werewolf's hairdo.
It reminded me of being in SF last summer during a spot of fogless sunniness that was golden and delicious. The heat was crisp and dry in the sun, sedate and comforting in the shade.
It made me long for the SF of my mind and all its nonreality. Alternatively, it caused a yearning for late summer in general.
Thinking about it generates perfect memories - that seem to come from my spine - of a house I lived in a handful of years ago. It had the biggest porch, and I would sit there all day in my robe and read, caffeinate, and smoke cigarettes.
The only thing missing today was the colors (it's seems appropriate to write "colours") and smells of September and the laziness of those mornings.
NOT that my morning wasn't marvelous, but those mornings stretched until dusk, and this morning just didn't stretch at all.
Here I am talk-talk-talking about the weather again.
I can also remember stretching out along the sliding glass door of my parent's house. There was a vent there that would have chilled you except that the back of the house faced south. That juxtaposition of sunny warmth and cool air is the perfection of late September.
In NC that goodness sometimes stretches into November and December. So many thanksgivings were spent tromping through the woods with my friends, band-of-brothers style, on recon missions so secret we didn't know what to reconnoiter, but we did recognize when it was time to hightail it back to our respective feasts.
Later, stuffed with and like turkey, we would don sweatshirts and roughhouse through our digestion.
The coolness of this evening is significantly less than those November days, but it has the taste of it.
diggity
It reminded me of being in SF last summer during a spot of fogless sunniness that was golden and delicious. The heat was crisp and dry in the sun, sedate and comforting in the shade.
It made me long for the SF of my mind and all its nonreality. Alternatively, it caused a yearning for late summer in general.
Thinking about it generates perfect memories - that seem to come from my spine - of a house I lived in a handful of years ago. It had the biggest porch, and I would sit there all day in my robe and read, caffeinate, and smoke cigarettes.
The only thing missing today was the colors (it's seems appropriate to write "colours") and smells of September and the laziness of those mornings.
NOT that my morning wasn't marvelous, but those mornings stretched until dusk, and this morning just didn't stretch at all.
Here I am talk-talk-talking about the weather again.
I can also remember stretching out along the sliding glass door of my parent's house. There was a vent there that would have chilled you except that the back of the house faced south. That juxtaposition of sunny warmth and cool air is the perfection of late September.
In NC that goodness sometimes stretches into November and December. So many thanksgivings were spent tromping through the woods with my friends, band-of-brothers style, on recon missions so secret we didn't know what to reconnoiter, but we did recognize when it was time to hightail it back to our respective feasts.
Later, stuffed with and like turkey, we would don sweatshirts and roughhouse through our digestion.
The coolness of this evening is significantly less than those November days, but it has the taste of it.
diggity
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That would be so funny. He's actually a really nice, funny guy and he'd probably laugh if he knew why I was doing it.