The light pouring in through the window says it's daytime. You cannot argue with the sun when the sun tells you it's daytime. The sun is the ultimate authority about such things, except up around the poles, where the sun gets confused. Everyone gets confused around the poles, though. The poles are confusing like that. So many misconceptions and perceptions break down at the poles. I blame the extremity of them, out there on the edge.
We're in the midst of those few short weeks in North Texas when the weather is amazing and enviable. It's so beautiful outside these days. The evenings are like paradise. It's so out of place. We're a mongrel climate with seasons cast off by all the more respectable climates to the north and the south. We aren't often enviable or pleasant. For these few weeks in the early autumn, though, we get a glimpse of what it must be like to live in a good place, in a place where people are happy and fulfilled and where life makes sense, a place that people take fond pictures of and print postcards about. Soon the fitful indecisive winter will descend upon us and we'll remember who we are, where we live. We'll set our jaws and muscle through the end of another year. Let the gods and winds do their worst! We're not leaving, dammit!
The sun shines down on the good and the wicked alike, on you and on me. Turn your squint full on into the flood of light and ask yourself which you are, wicked or good. Don't stare too long, though. It's not good for your eyes.
Hello, friends. Thanks for reading.
Later. Love.
