Words fail me.

I've always been a decent writer. I'm lazy, and I pretty much never rewrite, edit, or double check my writings, so what you see is what came right off the top of my head. So it has its limitations, mostly by me taking short cuts and just assuming you know what the hell I am talking about. I sometimes think, if I really disciplined myself, I could get pretty good and do something with it, this writing. But, like all the other stuff I am good at, I am good enough at it to get by without much more effort, and for now that is fine with me.

Then, something happens like a truly, incredibly gorgeous day like today. And I realize that I will never, ever have the chops to be able to describe the absolute serene beauty of it. The way the air smells, warm and yet crisp as it ruffles my hair, the color and texture of the light, the little lappings of the waves in the fjord, the rough rocks and the soft seaweed left on the shore. The way the blues and green and whites and roses just pop and the clarity of the air somehow makes far away things look closer, almost as though you can touch them. And I start to get frustrated at my ham fisted attempts to describe it. Like just now. Cliche cliche cliche. bah!



Then I realize that, really, I am just one lucky fucker if I am able to actually experience a day, a WHOLE DAY, that is so beautiful I can't describe it. It means it is one of those moments that I will just replay in the video of my brain, one of the "frozen moments" where I can retreat back to it and remember that time when it was so gorgeous I just lost my words.

So gorgeous I lost my words.