2004-11-02
You Know The Spell

hearing: nothing
reading: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
feeling: languid

Peace and serenity. Tranquilty and happiness.

In:

An excellent book, a warm blanket, and a comfy chair;

A steaming bowl of soup and a quiet assemblage of crackers;

The completion of tiresome tasks;

Cozy clothing;

Doting animals;

Kind Words.

A slow smile, a distractedly tepid glimmer in an eye, and a soft content sigh. With purple silk enwrapped around my head and a dog in my lap who barely exists anymore and a gentle ringing of happy words through my head, I am appeased. Nothing of great mark has happened, and neither is there anything of striking profundity on my mind. But this does not make for an uncomfortably complacent boredom. Only a dreamlike gauze of heartsease.

Wherein there is no room for my mincing locutions...

before & & after