Indian Sunshine
2003-10-30 - 11:31 p.m.

The birds are singing, and the sun is shining. The grass is green, what’s left of it, and the blacktop steams for joy. There’s a lot more blacktop than grass, but the grass doesn’t seem jealous. There’s plenty of sun for everyone.

And me, well, I just bask in the glory of one last spring day. If I could, I’d get a bottle and catch the sun in a jar, and then, someday, when I was cold and lonely, I’d open it, and let Indian sunshine come shining out. The sun is not mine to capture, but it doesn’t seem to mind hanging out with me for a while.

The breeze washes over me, and I think I smell flowers on the wind. My mind tells me it’s impossible, but my nose thinks it smells like daisies. It’s pretty difficult to argue with a nose that’s so confident.

So this can be the day, when winter finally rears it’s chilly head, that I will look back on and think, “Really, that was the best day of the whole summer.”

And it’ll be true.