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Friday, March 09, 2007

 

Small, good things (pace Carver)

The huggable warmth of laundry just out of the drier.

Those three or four days in spring when the air is almost warm and keeps drifting along.

Duvets.

Drinking straws.

Cutting an apple into slices before eating it.

Robins and blue tits.

Cut grass.

Monkeys.

Really cold tapwater to drink.

Having clean hair.

Making bread pills when no one's looking.

Sparklers.

Tossing something out, and hitting the bin from all the way across the kitchen.

Moss.

What are yours?

Comments:
Brown paper packages tied up in string...Oh, these are a few of my favorite things!

Kittens that sit on my lap as I type.

Mangoes and pears and plums freshly ripe.
(okay, done with the rhyming)

Drinking hot chocolate as it snows outside

A hot shower after sparring class.

Jellybeans.

Accidently having my alarm go off on Saturday morning, so I can get up, turn it off and collapse back in bed.

Taco salad.

Autumn.
 
Rowing out into the middle of a big lake. All alone. In the rain. Then closing my eyes, turning my head upwards, and listening to the rain drops hitting the water.
 
That golden green colour you get when the sun shines through new leaves.

The noise of rain on the roof.

Having warm feet.

Owls. Both their big stary eyes and the noise that they make.

People on telephones who are much friendlier than they have to be.

Cherries.
 
A peach from your own tree. One you've watched grow every day through the spring and summer, until one bright, hot day, you tug on it gently and it rolls into your hand.

The skin feels like a kitten's fur, but is taught with the juice of the ripeness. You prise it open and the yellow flesh falls away from the stone without effort. A trickle of juice seeps on to your palm, and you lick it quickly so as not to waste a single drop. Then you bite into the succulent flesh and the sweet, golden flavor of sunlight explodes in your mouth, just as nature intended...

And the next time you're in the supermarket, you feel so sorry for those half-green, rock-hard balls that have been ripped from their umbilical cords far too soon, and you feel that you have an infinitesimal glimpse of what's wrong with the world...

(Yep, slow work day again, sorry guys!)
 
Hanging up on telemarketers. Bonus points if you can stump them into silence before doing so.

Getting around the slow person in the fast lane.

Aspen leaves turning gold.
 
Waking up, thinking my husband has left for work, then realising he's still there--and snuggling up to him and going back to sleep.

Also, kittens.
 
Rain on my awnings
Cats purring
Dancing with my granddaughter
 
Tortoiseshell cats
Hooded mergansers
Wood-warblers of just about any species
Mallard ducklings (easy enough when you live in Boston, MA)
 
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