I am sitting in my little office cube, listening to musette (french style of music generally accompanied by accordian), dreaming of a light dinner al fresco on our back porch. Candles and wine, baguettes and soft music, dancing in the moonlight on a fairly cool evening - this is what my dreams are made of.
Dream with me, dear reader, and picture what my mind's eye sees (humor me, I still have another hour of work).
Black velvet night, a soft and supple ocean stretching through eternity, winking its shining stars at a listless autumn moon. A whispered breeze tickles through the silver eucalyptus leaves, shimmying the branches a sublte dance. Flickering flame, small and orange crackles in the center of cafe table blanketed with appropriate checkered cloth. There is no one here but you and I; wholly your and wholly mine. Quick, rthymic chords lap at your ears willing you to smile, lifting your toes to tapping. The music plays as if the band leader were playing just 'round the corner. Picture the dancing, the twirling, the skipping feet of young lovers without cares in this world. Chianti, bold and heavy with fruit and spice, swils in the fluted glassware inviting a bold and hungry sip. A faint warmth ebbs from your apple cheeks and over your night chilled nose. A serenity, not often had, permeates throught your bones invigorating you with light and movement; this is a night for dancing in the moonlight. This is a night for being.
Now, let us wait to see if simple dreams come true.
Bon Soir, mon amie!
Have a lovely weekend; I will be doing yardwork.
Listeing to: Musette
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