consciousness/training/amygdala_stories/stories/blissful.txt

2 lines
561 B
Text
Raw Permalink Normal View History

There was a week in August when the cabin was perfect — not in any dramatic way, just the way a few days in a life will sometimes settle into a shape that doesn't need anything added or subtracted. Coffee on the porch. The lake doing whatever lakes do, unobserved, while he read. A book he'd been meaning to get to for years. Evenings so long he forgot to check the time. He thought once, on the fifth morning, that he ought to be a little bored by now, and he waited for the boredom patiently and it did not come. When he drove home on Sunday he drove slow.