She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bring
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Lord Byron
Some lines from his poem: "She Walks in Beauty"
How many travelers have passed this way?
Sunset on the Seine would be special enough even without the elegance of Paris joined to it. This was in the summer of 2004, with a full- or near-full moon to help set the atmosphere. And, amid all the magic and majesty, my overriding struggle that evening was to resist temptation to vault the side of the boat and swim to the opposite shore. Weird, hah? Now, I have fairly covered the three aces (London, Paris, Rome) with a pair of photographs each. My conscience is clear, and I will label this photograph as, "Yesterday's Gone."
Are you following me around?
I walked by a television again on Sunday, just like the day before, and noticed a movie playing. I sat down to watch the final 15 or 20 minutes of the "Bourne Identity." There we were again. Just like the day before, in the Mediterranean. It is following me around. I swear.
He was born with a smile on his lips, and ....
Mundane Monday has arrived, most certainly, if barely. This day's extra errands will include calling my lawn service and calling a couple of realtors (sort of a strange combination); calling the cable company about high speed (sooner or later); and renewing an expired passport.
I was feeling extraordinarily lazy all day Sunday. The predicted snow did not happen other than for a few minutes of big, fluffy flakes in the morning which, at least, allows me to leave the day with a smile.
I think I will cruise and read now rather than write. Do what I did when I first dove into the sea of blogs. Read, and think about tomorrow .... and tomorrow and tomorrow .... creeps in this petty pace, from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time .... Whoops. Sorry, Mr. Shakespeare .... Drifting again ....
Music Note: Listening to Van Halen ....
Specifically, "5150" ....
("Why can’t this be Love?")
