It’s such a gorgeous day.
I enjoy my fruit lunch in the park. The pear is ripe and juicy, at that perfect stage of sweet softness. I plucked it from the tree two weeks ago, and, finally, it is ready to eat, a dream of "sugary sand melting on my tongue." The purple grapes are firm, crisp and cool.
I intend to study some Sanskrit from the yoga text I’ve brought with me. Instead I am swept up in the show. Branches wave in the breeze, birds flit, and the sun glints lively off the moving leaves. It’s more engaging than anything I could ever see on television.
I say a prayer of thanks for my blessed life.
I enjoy my fruit lunch in the park. The pear is ripe and juicy, at that perfect stage of sweet softness. I plucked it from the tree two weeks ago, and, finally, it is ready to eat, a dream of "sugary sand melting on my tongue." The purple grapes are firm, crisp and cool.
I intend to study some Sanskrit from the yoga text I’ve brought with me. Instead I am swept up in the show. Branches wave in the breeze, birds flit, and the sun glints lively off the moving leaves. It’s more engaging than anything I could ever see on television.
I say a prayer of thanks for my blessed life.
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