I was just inside the city limits of North Bend today, where life has yet to move into the 21st century, when I saw a woman who was in her 40s, I supposed. She was dressed in a Black sequined dress to just below her knees, a black hat with a black feather curled down to her chin, brown flats over lime green socks, and a shoulder bag made of straw.
What made her stand out was not her choice of mid-day apparel, if you can believe that, but her way of sauntering down the boulevard: she was‘dancing’to a tune in her head, oblivious to everything and everyone.
The aura around her was happy, and as I slowly drove past, I realized that I was fostering an approving smile. I so totally understood where she was coming from.
Should I be worried?
.
.
"For us, our house is not insentient matter—it has a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies; it is of us, and we are in its confidence, and live in its grace and in the peace of its benediction. We never come home from an absence that its face does not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome—and we can not enter it unmoved."
—Mark Twain, 1896
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—Mark Twain, 1896
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Friday, April 17, 2009
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Terracina/San Felice
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