Perfect

A few days back I was asked to write something about those moments when everything is OK. The stop-in-your-tracks occasions when all is well with the world. I wrote it quickly and never got close. It's Friday. I write slower on a Friday (day off). This is better...

There's a point about five minutes thirty seconds into St Germain's Pont des Arts off the Tourist album when the false ending ends and the piano comes back in which is so right, so perfect that the world cannot be a bad place. Like those moments of a wet drive home when the low flying ducks seem to be in a purpose-built video of the tune you are listening to on the stereo. Like the smell of bacon frying. Like a new shirt (not just a clean one). Like the cancelled meeting you were dreading. One million gripping glimpses of awe and wonder trapped in a moment. Striving for the perfect sentence and getting near oh so near but yet...

Warming up now. May keep coming back to this one.