the most beautiful thing: more sun
We’re in our third or fourth Indian Summer here in Boulder – the precious blips of sun and warmth bouncing off the sunny warmth of the tree-leaves and into our sunny warm hearts that hope to stay that way. Home sick today, I am lucky to see the late afternoon light through my skylights and windows, something I so rarely see, especially on a Monday. There is a song, too, I’m seeing for the first time. Though spending most of the day in bed, it is running through my head, relentless towards the finishing. It speaks of a rainy Sunday morning, lovers apart remembering the sun together from a summer gone by. I suppose there are so many ways in which we want the elongated beauty of more sun, of reemergence of sun, of our own personal little Indian Summer. The song wants it for them both. I would like it for us all. More sun. More beauty.