Can I just say that when you're sitting in a cedar-plank floathouse beside a roaring woodstove fire, the waxing moon shedding light through the shutters like an animal discarding its hide to dance nude in human form --
when you've got a coffee mug of smoky single malt scotch in one hand, and Leonard Cohen playing (softly, because you know the words and all you really need is the suggestion of a tune) --
when your belly is full of good food, and your lips are still smoldering from the remnants of a cigar, and the warmth from the flames and cast iron wraps around you like a live thing clinging to you gently --
when all those stars align, C. S. Lewis' discussion of the word "nature" (phusis, kynde, physical) makes even more sense than is typical.
No comments:
Post a Comment