The Flow
The sky is pink and gray. I'd take a picture to show you, but I'm too lazy to go find my camera.
I haven't seen a sky like this in a long time. It makes me realize how colorful and dramatic the sunsets at Ocean Beach in San Francisco are. Don't burst my bubble and say it's because of pollution—I'm going to choose to believe it's because this is a magical spot.
In your wanderings on this earth, have you ever run across a magical spot? Do you have many or none at all?
In Buenos Aires, my magical spot was a bench in Recoleta, where I sat for hours and watched people walk by. In San Francisco, there's a room in the DeYoung Museum that holds all sorts of mysteries for me. And Ocean Beach, of course.
Once, in more northerly climes, I found a mystical labyrinth in someone's yard—I sat on the edge of that labyrinth for hours. In Paris, years ago, I found enchantment inside an optometrist's store, sharing tea and conversation with several interesting locals. When I was a kid, my closet was it for me. It held all sorts of magic, dark as well as light.
Yes, you're absolutely right—there's no point to anything I just wrote. It just spewed forth from my fingertips, and I went with it. Experts call that going with the flow. I call it random babbling.
For the record, this is totally not the blog I'd meant to write. I blame jetlag. And the ninety minutes of Bikram yoga I did for the first time ever today. I swear somewhere in the second half, I started having visions.
PS: don't ask what I'd meant to write (Jen). I'm saving it up for next week.