Where Dreams Are Made

There is nothing like listening to Norah Jones on a cold, quiet night and seeing the soft yellow illumination of the night lamp caress the bed pillows. Kinda puts me in the mood for love. And there is the impulse to sigh--the good kind of sigh, mind you. It is the sigh of contentment of one who's been reminded of the beauty and evocative power of music. Suddenly there is a warm, fuzzy feeling to counter the cold with. I just love this feeling! It's a kind of high that portends good fortune. It's a sense of awareness that life is good. I know my description isn't capturing the essence of it; there is a substantial amount of soul lost in translation. Better savor this feeling before it's gone. It's fleeting as it's fragile. So, I'll stop blogging now and just sit here, engaged in a trance, pondering the secrets of the universe. This very moment I can honestly say,