hazy gospel confessions

It is a hazy overcast damp spring afternoon. The trees are all in bloom. The sky is the color of a fine tailored wool suit. I have dog kisses and a fireplace to keep me warm. Alexander McCall Smith narrates the minutes with images of the african bush and simple moral conversations that would not be the same without an invitation and a cup of tea. The sweet aroma of hops lingers in from the kitchen. Adele parts the air with the undertone of gospel any decent Sunday afternoon deserves. This moment is one to snuggle into, confess a dark secret to, and take a nap curled in it's content and able arms.