I loved driving home from work twenty minutes ago, the golf cart seat plush and a little cold, the windshield folded down so the night breeze blew my bangs (too short to brush back) out of my eyes. My jacket was that great big down filled trench coat one, you know, the one with the fur on the hood? Yeah. I pulled the hood up over my head and the world dissolved into only what was right in front of me, and sometimes even that looked fuzzy. I had leather gloves on my hands, and I love the way they smelt--like money, like New York, like sitting in a log cabin with someone you love. I loved stretching my fingers out and feeling the push and pull of resistance against my palms. With a cup of my favorite tea in hand, (Rooibos Rainbow, avec cream and honey--it smells like fleece blankets wrapped around you on a cold winter's night, when your feet are just a little bit cold and the window has a crack in it that you can't ever seem to plug up, but you dont mind, since the air is fresh), it wasn't hard to forget that I had problems. In fact, I realized them for what they were: downright trivial. I felt that I loved just about everyone at that moment, and even though it was about thirty degrees (even without the windchill) I was glowing and warm and could almost see how. The moon was a thin sliver of crescent white, I smiled at it and it smiled back at me like a Picasso painting. I laughed. I must have driven slow to avoid spilling the tea. My mother would have been proud. I wish my life were filled with more moments like that. It's hard to explain. But I loved it: just a little cold, just a little unhappy, just a little tea, and the soul inside you simply shrugs off its chains and laughs along with the stars.