Geneva Post(card)
Suppose you find yourself in a deciduous country that gets it right:
Spring actually comes in the spring, and this spring-timed spring is _actually_ Spring (rather than say, schizophrenic vacillation between winter and summer interspersed with bludgeonings by random precipitation; a clearly theoretical comparison that couldn`t possibly be based on a real region of an actual country where a blogger might have spent the first 23 years of her life).
Then suppose the view out of your window is a panorama of green fields, a handsome woodland, a hint of pale-blue lake, sweeping clouds, and say, the tallest mountain in Europe (beautifully snow-capped).
Meanwhile, imagine that the gentle breeze is sweet with the fragrance of refreshing alpine air mingled with newborn wildflowers, and that above the usual faint birdsong in the background, you often hear the trilling whinny of the long-winged hawks which sometimes dance across your line of sight.
Wow, you think, dragging your gaze contentedly back to your computer screen, knowing that you`ll be treated to some iteration of this every day of your visit. This is really ideal. Nothing could possibly top this view; it`s totally perf–
And then the world grins and says, Wanna bet?
As it reveals a rainbow which graces aforesaid perfection smack dab in the middle. And no fooling around, either: it`s a full-span rainbow, bearing colors that are at once vivid and distinct yet ethereally translucent. Fit for faeries. A scene that was already complete, already incomprehensibly perfect, has become even more so.
Magic.
(And you don`t even think to want a camera, because it doesn`t even occur to you to think that the scene might change or go away: it seems so self-evidently right, and in any event you`re worlds beyond thinking… It takes every bit of you, that first moment, just to appreciate it as it is. So perfect, this perfection, that it could almost make you cry.)
