Ain’t she purdy.
I have found that the late evening sun has developed a tricky scheme that is bound to lure me out.
Sure there is work to be done and dinner to be made, but it beckons to me with velvety colors and a chill in the air that caresses my skin and lifts my hair.
Yesterday evening we decided dinner could wait and we meandered in the midst of a cloudless sky, following The Blue as it wound its way along Highway 9, through quaint mountain neighborhoods and lush soccer fields awash with fire engine red Icelandic Poppies.
It traipsed past Town Hall, bubbling around the library and alongside the Pavilion. It drifted in and out of the woods rushing over displaced rocks, pooling in beaver ponds and tickling the ankles of the fly fishermen as they lost themselves in the gurgle of the water and tug of their line.
Sure there was work to be done, dinner to make, emails to write and boxes to unpack; but tonight, we meandered.
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[Verb] swan·ning - to wander around aimlessly in search of pleasure
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