Last night, I wandered around my neighborhood eating German chocolate out of my jacket pocket. The fact that the packaging advertised the chocolate as "square" (and "practical") amused me; like billing a great poet as "tall," it seems irrelevant.
I am half in love with everything these days - the crispness of the air, the silvery pink skies that arch over my head as I walk to work every morning, the refreshing unpredictability of my job from one day to the next, the company of my coworkers, snuggling with Bernd as he tries to hypnotize me ("Sarahhhh, look me in the face..." a direct translation from German, I think, but it sounds completely silly in English), friends, fresh local apples and pears from the Co-Op, streets filling up with leaves as the trees empty out.
And half the time, I am pacing, trying to figure this world out. It's an interesting mixture of sweet contentment and squirming, restless discontent.
Rebecca West's Black Lamb and Grey Falcon is one of the most engrossing books I've ever encountered.
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