I was driving home last night, and the sun was setting behind the trees, leaving them a black sillohette against a burning sky. It happens almost every night, but last night, I thought to myself how fortunate we are to live here in this world, so full of magic and wonder all the time. I know that I am particularly succeptible to this kind of imput, I am predisposed to seeing these things, I live my life mostly in my head, and in words and images; this is my business and my joy. And it may be a form of mental illness, but my writer's brain narrates events even as they are happening to me, even as I experience the world in life, my head is filled with words. I am exceptionally fortunate to live where I do, with the people I do, I am blessed with eyes that can see these things and blessed with a mind that can sometimes describe things so others can see them too, even if they see them differently than I do, and only in their head. With the right kind of eyes, this world can be magic.