Thursday, October 7, 2010

The Sign of the Beaver

I love to write. I love to take photos. I love to go back and read what I have written and stare contemplatively at the photos I have taken.  There is an ethereal romanticism that comes from reminiscing.

I had coffee with a good friend this morning (grande Americano with a pump of pumpkin spice)  and though we talked about many incredible things, (he is one of my favorite conversationalists) I probably won't actually remember much of the conversation. I am positive though, that I will remember the color of the orange leaves against the perfectly crisp blue sky, and the way he squinted when the sun finally came up over the building behind me.  I'll remember the shoes we wore and the glee I felt as we looked at the time and two hours had passed without us even realizing it.  The taste of my next Americano will certainly elicit a similar emotional reaction.

Right now I am sitting next to a sunny window in the perfectly 1970's library, and my heart is so full of fondness that it will probably explode.  I am a tiny bit afraid that if I get up from this chair, where all seems right with the world, that this moment will be over and lost forever.  Then in a few months I will stumble across this post again, and the happiness and contentedness will flood back over me and I will be transported to that ethereal place of reminiscence.



(In case you were wondering what me sitting contentedly in the library looks like, here it is:
And yes, I do have a lion's mane even though I am a girl.)


*Addendum: I am actually posting this 5 days later, after a whole lot has happened and changed, and as I go back over and look at it, I do get to revel in the nostalgia that comes from $10 Chaco flip-flops and ugly black sneakers.