Hindsight

I think yesterday's entry sounds a bit forced. Boring, really. I mean, it was a beautiful day, but still.
I think it's hard to capture beautiful days in words without sounding affected, or cheesy (unless maybe your Wordsworth, but even he went a little syrupy at times, in my opinion).
Perhaps such days are better left un-written-about. Perhaps they are to be experienced and absorbed, not crystalized to slake our prideful human "itch to have things over"* at will.
Or perhaps I'm just boring.
One never knows.
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* C.S. Lewis, Perelandra