Dreaming

Somebody was crazy smart to flip this place a few years ago.  The old mall is gone, with its Colorado souvenirs and outdatedness.  Now it is this sprawling outdoor mall, a fountain in the middle, green grass, white lights in the evening, ice skating in the winter, and some of the sweetest boutiques.

I’m sitting outside on their wrap around veranda.  Under a white umbrella, on a tiled deck.  I am surrounded by the most glorious window boxes filled with colorful splashy flowers. Bag pipes, played well, just far enough away.  And strands of white lights overhead, which are forever and always the most romantic thing I love most.

It feels very elite.  Somehow I feel very beautiful.  My posture is different, my gestures are more intentional.  Perhaps it’s because I’m sitting outside a darkened window, as if there is a man inside watching me, thinking, “She is absolutely the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

And then I put on my reading glasses, and he swoons, perhaps thinks to himself, “I bet she takes her time.  And I bet she is worth waiting for.”

This is pretty much the dreamiest place to sit.  And I’m obviously dreaming.