Big fat flakes snowed down last week and my three year old friend proclaimed that Christmas was here! Sometimes I find myself so astonished at her wide eyed worldview that I have to sit back and sigh. It would be grand to believe that Christmas comes every time it snows, right? It puts much less pressure on the whole affair.
I am impressed by many things, but mostly by the knack Billy Joel has for making me weep.
"we already had christmas! we had it yesterday."
"but guess what? christmas happens every year!"
"no we had it yesterday we can’t have it again"
how long does it take to become the kind of person who blogs regularly, drinks only one cup of coffee each morning, and knows how to do ones hair?
Is it possible to have a celebration for autumn every day? I would be more than willing. Everybody keeps saying how this season is meant for transformation and growth, and I never got that as much as I do now. Something about being out of school that makes me fully feel each miniscule evolution.
Love’s language is hyperbole, but whispered,
sibilant similes and promises sotto voce.
It’s easy to imagine you’ve misheard,
the form and content clash, create this weird
distortion like an echo or a tape delay.
Love’s language is hyperbole, but whispered.
—Aphrodisia, by Richard Hoffman