Today's sun is bright and almost painfully white. The kind of sunshine that scours and whitewashes and purifies. My eyes are tired from scrunching. And that's my excuse for knocking over Tim's coffee with milk onto the rug while gesticulating on the phone.
Surprisingly, Tim's flight did come through last night so, around midnight, I went and picked him up and the roads were a horror. I drove like a little old lady but that's really nothing new because I do that in fine weather too.
I just came from the library: one of my only social forays out in days due to the interesting snow installations the snowplows have made which have turned the neighborhood roads into one-way lanes, and invited many of us, who spent 45 minutes digging out their cars (cough.me), to become one of those people who put chairs in their street parking spaces.
The sky today is the kind of blue that doesn't happen in summertime. That deep rich denim blue that you can't quite focus on or believe is really there. I was looking at a lovely bunch of birches, white and creamy peach with touches of glow about them, red sprays against the blue, when I spotted a fuzzy little puffed-up hawk near the top of a tree, catching some rays.
I love little moments like that.
The other evening I followed the sun as it bobbed, perfectly round and pinkly orange, through the black tree branches. I drove on for some minutes, chasing and reframing it through a scene of rising and changing trees, looking for a photo that I never got.
But I didn't regret seeing it.
I think Lucy has moments like that, too.