"He made the moon to mark the seasons, and the sun knows when to go down." Psalm 104:19
My view from my back porch if I was a famous novelist and didn't live in New York...I will remember tonight and the fruit forward of a chilled Santa Barbara Pinot Noir staining my sun drenched lips while my tired feet linger in the glistening bay.
I will taste the tangy spice of the last steamed shrimp of summer off my fingertips and feel the breeze in my salty yellow hair.
I will hear the slow cadence of a pelican's wings and the faint splash of a fishing lure.
I will picture me here, smelling of coco butter, barefoot, and smiling.
And recall fondly as the crowds elbow me out, the freezing air cuts at my nose, and slush in the sink holes of inferior asphalt gathers at the street corner, that my last hot New York summer was one for the records.
Okay, so don't hold me to "last." Just officially over.
Isn't it nice to grasp life in the present?
