Beautiful Day

I have nothing to say today, except that it is perfect outside. Sunlight floods our little living room, and the view out the window, from a chair or the couch, is of blue and fluffy white and the jutting green branches of the ginkgo tree by the road. The windows are open, and because they look out at ground level on a little garden, I understand better than before what F. Scott Fitzgerald meant when he said, "There are dying flower scents upon the air, so thin, so fragile, as to hint already of a summer laid away in time."