It's one of those days. Nothing in particular is special - but you're here, where ever you are, and it only takes something as simple as a sweet cup of tea so make you sigh a little softer. Smile a little easier.
It's been raining on and off, and unlike any other day - it doesn't really bother you (even though you have a spray tan appointment this evening).
You come across whimsical typographic artworks like the one below here, and are thankful for all the creative souls you've encountered, personally or virtually.
That's what today is like.
As I sit here at my work desk, listening to a myriad of my favourite artists (inparticular k.d. lang's rendition of 'Halleljuah' as I blog this), working on a map for the Oxford University Press' Atlas of Malawi, I am sailing along. A complaint would be out of sorts on an afternoon such as this.
What's so good about it? Nothing in particular. But then nothing is bad either.
I finished my fourth book for the year, Coming Up For Air by George Orwell, over lunch and am silently planning an evening that satisfies my mind just so. The company of my sister, delicious dinner, a glass of wine or two and a movie I dare say are on the cards. Saving one's pennies as the Big Day Out festival we are to attend on Sunday has surely been seen on the not so distant horizon.
It's funny - feelings like this I mean. They're wonderful, for no particular pin-point reason and you wouldn't change it for a thing.