There is definition in these final days of summer as the light goes quicker and the winds come up and the blankets come out. My little dog needs a light sweater for morning walks. I am now donning my pancho and am more likely to proffer a cup of hot tea than a tall glass of lemonaid.
The other night I went for a swim at twilight with a friend and as we treaded water and talked ideas the night seemed to say, 'Children, come out of that water. You'll catch a cold.'
After dinner the equally loving and interesting hosts of the evening invited me to a very magical full moon blooming of some magnificent, other-worldly, bigger-than-life flowers that, facing their wide mouths upward toward the orb, glowed in her glory and moved gently as bees drunkenly flew here and there, intoxicated by the perfume.
We were intoxicated, too, by the water, night air, full light and conversation. And, as I bid farewell, and was driven down the hill and back to the city by the master of the house, I reflected on the moon and her light and the way the world looks when she shines.
I will only ever be defined by my choices. My choice of nourishment and beverage, movement or rest, music or silence, book or newspaper, dog or cat, high heels or ballerina flats, breath deep or shallow, stretch forward or back, the red coat or camel one, the summer here or the summer there. And with each choice I must make the most of the moments and the days, no matter how long or short they may be. And with each choice I cherish what comes with choosing.
A good friend is leaving her job to write her thesis. She made her choice. She is braving the next six months without a proper job to concentrate on finishing what she started. I wish her a happy choice and a happy birthday.
And to all of you, a nice, hot, cup of tea and warmer blanket to see you into the longer nights ahead.
The other night I went for a swim at twilight with a friend and as we treaded water and talked ideas the night seemed to say, 'Children, come out of that water. You'll catch a cold.'
After dinner the equally loving and interesting hosts of the evening invited me to a very magical full moon blooming of some magnificent, other-worldly, bigger-than-life flowers that, facing their wide mouths upward toward the orb, glowed in her glory and moved gently as bees drunkenly flew here and there, intoxicated by the perfume.
We were intoxicated, too, by the water, night air, full light and conversation. And, as I bid farewell, and was driven down the hill and back to the city by the master of the house, I reflected on the moon and her light and the way the world looks when she shines.
I will only ever be defined by my choices. My choice of nourishment and beverage, movement or rest, music or silence, book or newspaper, dog or cat, high heels or ballerina flats, breath deep or shallow, stretch forward or back, the red coat or camel one, the summer here or the summer there. And with each choice I must make the most of the moments and the days, no matter how long or short they may be. And with each choice I cherish what comes with choosing.
A good friend is leaving her job to write her thesis. She made her choice. She is braving the next six months without a proper job to concentrate on finishing what she started. I wish her a happy choice and a happy birthday.
And to all of you, a nice, hot, cup of tea and warmer blanket to see you into the longer nights ahead.
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