Anything I think to write about this morning just falls short. It's one one of those days where air and light and sound hit some perfect kind of symmetry and spill out into summer. Later, it'll be too hot. And most likely too loud. The sky won't be this tender blue. But right now, this minute, with a sea breeze so soft the very membrane of your skin seems to vanish, it's perfect.


Next entry: The road more traveled
More by Veronique de Turenne:
Layers of green and wetSigns of Saturday: Falling rocks
Flights of pelicans
Hey, sweet pea
The writing on the wall
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