glory glory

On my way to yoga this morning at 6:30, the sunshine was backlighting all the acacia in bloom on the mountainside, and everything was wearing a golden halo, even me.  The proof:  I flipped on la radio as was shooting the shoots (that's how I think of a bit of extra twirly, curly road that dips down steep past Lasalle), and it was too good to be true...  Django Reinhardt playing Bach.  My tummy floated up up up, and tickled my heart, like it will on a swingset.  Nary another little Citroën on the road, just me and my little grey lemon and gypsy baroque, and sunshine yellow, and sky blue.