It's beautiful weather and I sat outside yesterday and today for lunch, which is my idea of the idyllic life. We're pretending it's Paris and we're at a cafe. Since today we saw an impressionist exhibit, the illusion is enhanced. A little accordian music and the fantasy will be complete. And yet, the longest day of the year has passed, and the days are getting shorter, and somewhere I know this and want to squeeze every drop of summer out and sip it while I can. Even if it's a foggy morning/slightly chilly day and not really true summer weather. Today I wore no socks, though wisdom would have dictated that they were necessary for the temperature. I refuse to bow to the facts of the weather, I prefer to pretend.
Can summer be made of not quite summer weather? I believe so. I will it so. And this funky place can be a echo of Paris even without the architecture and the accents. There is no end to what determination may accomplish. Though may and will are two different beings.
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