This might be a long story. I don’t know. I haven’t written it yet. I might write it in little bursts.
But I’m just thinking that sometimes, the pretty matters. I try not to be as shallow as a puddle, but sometimes things stay with you. Visual things, I mean.
I remember what sunset and sunrise look like from the balcony of my room at Nusa Island, overlooking the water. I will never again live somewhere as beautiful. I’ll probably never be as miserable. But that’s a good thing. I loved the nubby strangeness of my grandmother’s missing finger. Lost in a meat slicing accident, there was something fascinating and distinctive about her missing finger. I looked at her hands for hours as a child. And there’s (usually) something amazing about seeing a child receive their first bike.
Apparently the feeling never wears off.
I was reading recently about Blakey’s “new” bike on Fyxomatosis, where said bike looks mighty pretty.
Course, Mister Fyxo can make just about anything look pretty. Even me.
