It seems that theres always some day in each season when the weather is so perfectly matched with my mood and environment that I foolishly declare that season my favorite, even though it will doubtlessly be replaced. Today was one of those perfect days. Spring is dying in a violently beautiful way, the last gasps of this cycle manifesting in pleasant wind that plays with the blue sky. Summer has began the introductory dance and hot direct heat blaze any space not clothed by shadows. I lay on my floor, the sliding glass window leading to my small balcony is open. I'm reading a short story published more than 100 years ago about time travel. As I read I stretch out my hand and pet my potted plant that is growing happily on my balcony. I suddenly get a further idea on a five year old concept that I have for an engine-device. I open a notebook designated for such things, and scratch down the idea. I go back to reading the story on my tiny cellphone screen. Its times like this that some sort of appreciation for time travel echos in my mind. I decide Late Spring is my favorite season.
