floating

I fell into a deep slumber for the first couple of afternoon hours. I grabbed "Cold Mountain" and went back to bed after the boyfriend split for the golf course. I managed to read a few pages before drifting off under the ceiling fan. The last couple of days have been utterly gorgeous, and hot. I have few more decadent pleasures than an unexpected nap in summer heat. I didn't hear the bedside phone ring--I woke when I heard boyfriend's son's voice on the answering machine. He arrives in 10 days and to say that we're excited doesn't begin to describe the emotion behind this visit. By the time we meet his plane on the night of August 9th, we'll probably be close to floating on a cloud of joy.
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From page 259 in "Cold Mountain":

She wondered if literature might lose some of its interest when she reached an age or state of mind where her life was set on such a sure course that the things she read might stop seeming so powerfully like alternate directions for her being.

Although I love the idea expressed here (and specifically how Charles Frazier expressed it), I truly hope I never reach that place in my own life. Not that I'm not seeking a "sure course," but fiction provides me with such a powerful portal to my dreams and imagination that I hope it will always hold sway over me in that way.