If you could see the way the light glows no in midfternoon you'd agree that it is very autumn gold even if it's mid-nineties bullhot and you can't help but think that all the West O bougie decadents who bought swimming pools in Nebraska have it right after all. I have a morbid fascination with some tales of toddlers who drowned in private swimming pools, in how they were so intensely fascinated with the skywater that they scaled fences several times their own height or braved dogs several times their size just to touch that skywater and become that skywater.* I vaguely remember having that thing in myself; that ingrained childhood instinct to be so wholly overwhelmed by curiosity as to become it like a demigod feels lust but I don't remember it enough to truly feel it again; alas. Though there as a point in my adulthood when I was taking an art history class and viewed a slide of a cathedral in like Occidentia I think it was and letting out the most audible and sincere AHHH at the sight of a dome shaded the color of the most cutting ice blue several hundred feet in the air and good god Damn. I think Burke was an ass for declaring storms mountains and terror superior to cute and comfortable things but he wasn't without his justifiable reasons.
* A less depressing example, if dead children depress you as well they should. I was once at a smorgasbord restaurant and left a jalapeno at my seat while I went to get some beer-cheese pasta or something. A girl or four or five was so transfixed by the pepper that she ignored all obvious signs of the seat being taken and the pepper being someone's; throwing my jacket car keys etc aside in her attempt to grab it for herself and being stopped only by her father dragging her away in tears. She shall make a very brave woman this one.
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