Today is a brilliant day, and not just because of the sunshine. Last night, Swee'pea went to sleep at a reasonable hour and for once did not wake up before Sugar D and I went to bed, where we stretched across the vacant expanse between us and luxuriated in the sensation of being able to choose whatever position you please to fall asleep, with no small elbows or heads or feet poking in the way. It was a sensation we were able to enjoy all night long, for the first time in months. And, possibly for the first time in Swee'pea's life, I woke up all by myself, and went downstairs to read (I'm more than halfway through the Goblet of Fire), by myself, until Swee'pea woke up around 7:45 a.m. It was an incredible feeling of unprecendented restfulness.
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To go to the playground in the park, we always cross the covered bridge, constructed entirely of wood right down to its square pegs. Some of its boards are loose, and when wheels cross them, they sink and rise in turn, sounding out bass notes. This morning, I heard fragments of a woman singing on the wind, rising above the percussion of the loose boards behind us. She kept singing as she passed us, and her voice was beautiful and a little haunting. She was peddling an old, bright green bicycle that rattled along like cymbals, and she wore a royal blue toque with two peaks like pigtails, red mittens, a burgundy coat, and flourescent orange tights. As she clattered off the bridge and up towards the university, I couldn't help but imagine I'd just seen Bjork on a bike, or heard Pippi Longstocking sing. I felt like I'd been given a gift, the kind of gift you don't know you want until you open it and feel a warm glow.
(not today - this picture's from August, but you get the idea)