The day begins with rain and gloom. I don my long green jacket and oxfords, and wear them in defense of the weather closing in. The cooler weather, that is, for a day or so. Any change as such is most welcome, and I grin to my own delight. And the day clears up. The sky slowly breaks up and blue peaks through as the grey clouds are swept out of sight.
The day grows cooler and the winds come down to reinforce it. Oh, I can smile at that.
My mind is open to new ideas. It is as if the wind has swept the old, decaying thoughts with the new, breezy possibilities. Or impossibilities. In order to fully stretch the imagination, one must think of the impossible. The realm outside the box must be explored. One must travel down the rabbit hole. Then, the imagination can run at full speed.
Maybe I will find the tree and rabbit hole that Alice tumbled down while I explore the meadow at Christ Church, Oxford. Perhaps the whimsical tone will attach itself to me.
My delight is enhanced by memories of books, especially when visiting a place that was in a book, or where an author lived and wrote it. Because there is something oozing in that atmosphere. Words formed there and made it into a book (or books) that have shaped me in some good way. Let me soak up all the atmosphere of those places. The writing vibes can dance around me all day.
Memories of books become like memories of my own life. Treasured. Remembered. Talked about. Delighted in.
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