Ephemera
The lazy, white puff of tree seeds floating across the window; the butterfly flying against the wind in the opposite direction; the flavor of the nameless, spicy dish recommended by the waiter at the Indian bistro where I stopped on a whim; the soft, exotic music playing in my ears; and the sun playing on the windows of the tall downtown buildings were all a perfect accompaniment to the words of Jorge Borges tickling my thoughts from the book I had been reading as I waited for my food.
Tags: ephemera, literature, mind
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