Some days are simply–good days.  Things go well. Your friends  tell you things you would not repeat (publicly) but which mean the world to you.  Their words are generous,  probing, intelligent.  By turns, they are funny, and witty. They make you laugh, they make you think. They make you go right back to work–whatever your labor of love is.

Then you go out into the world, and it looks like it’s been made anew.  The air is crisp, the wind and the leaves are dancing, the city is alive.  It’s a beautiful evening in Boston, perhaps the most perfect evening this year, so far. (These photos don’t  do justice to it. It’s always the same, isn’t it? Our grasp falls short of our reach.)

Your French class goes well; your brain works hard. The bus and subway are on time and not too crowded. Everyone is home watching the debates.

I hear tomorrow will be cloudy, perhaps rain.  But for today, things were near-perfect.  Not quite, not quite, but almost.  Small joys.  So far.