After Valentina left around noon, I wrote a letter to the editor of our local paper giving my opinion of the asinine politicians and the mess in Washington, and with that off my chest, went out to sit in the swing and work on a crossword. But the day was just too gorgeous to do that. I can do that inside, so I put it down.

Mockingbirds were singing to each other or at each other, and flying across the yard. Little yellow butterflies flitted across the grass. There was a breeze that sighed through the pines and clinked the wind chimes. Mild sun, clear blue sky, air dry and fresh, weatherman saying it'll be down in the 40-50's tonight. Leaves beginning to flutter from the hickory and oak trees, a clump of bright yellow goldenrod blooming in my neighbor's pasture.

Then hearing from inside the house, opera on the radio. MPB was playing requests from listeners: Pavarotti, then a soprano singing "Un Belle Die" from Madama Butterfly. One after another, music so wonderful it makes my toes curl.

It's food for the soul, simple things, like that hour out in the swing, so perfect, I'd rather have that than a diamond.

susil