seriously inured...

On a monday morning, procuring fate, I pledge not to peel your hopeful succulent Valencia orange with such sterness or solemn quailing (is that a word? or perhaps, just a bird?). Yet another revelation came to me on a deep grey Sunday afternoon, I said, smiling, (not a smirk either, but a real smile), and it was then that I realized that perhaps I've had the wrong attitude when it comes to my pursuit of writing and / or my quest of athletic achievement. And I think it is best summed up by a chortle and a giddy wink of these bottomless blue eyes, and it is here that I say, "don't be so damned hardened or severe."

There should be no disillusion in the efforts.

Yesterday the narcissistic yet lovable Julia paraded her cheerless confident "cold" into the cafe where we drank herbal tea and perused the latest edition of The Fiddlehead (a literary magazine from those wily valleys of New Brunswick, especially wily this issue - see page 77, wink!). Her illness, a minor detraction from her usual poised personality, she said, would not deter her from a long day at the library and even a mountain bike in the brisk late-autumn late-afternoon. She's a soft-tail you know, not a roadie or a tri-gal, so she doesn't always appreciate the quibbles of the pavement. Yet she passes above it all with the glazed spinning of a sanguine championness, and I, awe-filled, slack-jawed, straight lipped, rough and raw renegade???? had an instant of epiphanic manifestation; And so I now vow, in all consequences of living, to beam instead of frown.

Do you think perhaps it will make an optimistic difference?