Sunbath.

On sunny days, the sun is high and clear by the time I wake up in the morning. Sometimes, in fact, it wakes me up well before it's time for me to get up--something that has always happened to me when I've been in the United Kingdom during the summer. At 3:30 this afternoon, we were in the midst of our first full-on almost-hot summer day, kissing the lower 80s with not a smidge of humidity. The light was so bright that it seemed to be stripping the air back and cranking up every color, particularly in places like my favorite Fellows Garden. And so, though I began the day feeling hollowed out and a bit forlorn, by late afternoon I was largely back to my regular wide-eyed doings. And by the time I'd done some sunbathing from inside my flat--the late afternoon sun coming in the door was that bright--and by the time I went to the yoga class wherein I held my feet up in utterly unexpected postures, one might say that I felt clarified. I'm still not sure why I'm walking through these little trials by fire--these demon freaks sent to test me, as my beloved Brooklynite once said--but every time I pass another one, it turns out to be a strange relief that it's over.

Tomorrow I'll celebrate by taking in more cultural products and events than even I can quite imagine consuming in one day--from a manuscript to a play to an interview.