Last weekend was delicious. The days were a blessing; crisp and sunny, the kind of autumn days you need to be out in because you know that with every weekend that passes, these kinds of days are less likely to occur for… well you don’t want to think about how many months.
And it was more than that.
It started with spontaneous “beer o’clock” on Friday with family, then moved into a weekend that was about wandering around, changing minds, making diversions, sharing meals, turning your face to the sun and letting it slide its arms around your shoulders against the cool air, exploring neighbourhoods, watching diamonds floating on the lake, taking pictures of freighters, long kisses, longer conversations, sharing old pictures, beholding skylines, sleeping in, drinking cesars with big breakfasts, standing on the street corner deciding which way to walk home and then a crying like an idiot in the middle of a busy station as you collect your long-away sister.
That weekend – lets not bother to quantify the beauty. Lets call it all beautiful thing number seventy-two.
Happy Valentines Day.
I’ve often said: I’ve been rather unlucky in long term love, but I’ve been VERY lucky in romance. You know the kind of romance I mean – not that icky, Hallmarky, splashy valentine card, sappy love song kind of romance. But the sharing experience, living in the moment, richness in seeing kind. I don’t suppose the kinds of men I meet will ever make me rich like, say, a sugar daddy would – but what they’ve given to my soul and imagination is the richest reward. I’m really grateful for that.
On this Valentines Day, I’m celebrating my romantic perspective, and the romantic perspectives of lovers and friends, past and present, as beautiful thing number eight.