Some days hold a certain beauty, almost magical. They are, in their own way, nearly perfect days - perhaps so nearly perfect that we cannot recognize their perfection. When I see this, I see it in the ordinariness of the day. Extraordinary days are many things - but I would not characterize them as perfect or nearly perfect. Extraordinary is a sufficient description for them.
But for those other days, for days like today, they are perfectly ordinary. There in lies their beauty, wrapped deeply inside their simplicities. The sun is bright and warm. The sky is a certain shade of blue. There is a breeze, faint, soft, enough to keep you cool in the warmth of the sun. There are scents riding upon the air, the faint scents of a hundred parallel universes, all interwoven. The world feels firm under your feet. Those things you touch with your hands have a certain weight and heft - they feel exactly like they should feel, regardless of what they are. That is the fabric of the tapestry of nearly perfect days.
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