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Aug. 29th, 2006 11:45 pmThe problem with Frank Sinatra is that he doesn't have many songs you can whistle the next day.
(Doesn't mean Eros isn't trying, though.)
There's sunlight shining in through the broad wall of windows that makes up one side of the cabin, more than enough to light up the open-concept kitchen. Every now and then Eros glances up and grins at the sight visible through them: a deck that leads to a sloping lawn, and just a short distance beyond that a long dock reaching out into a mirror-calm lake. Every now and then there's the sound of a loon, or the sight of a bird of prey above the pine trees.
Eros wiggles his bare feet against the ceramic tiles as he cooks. Hopefully Goldy likes bacon.
(Doesn't mean Eros isn't trying, though.)
There's sunlight shining in through the broad wall of windows that makes up one side of the cabin, more than enough to light up the open-concept kitchen. Every now and then Eros glances up and grins at the sight visible through them: a deck that leads to a sloping lawn, and just a short distance beyond that a long dock reaching out into a mirror-calm lake. Every now and then there's the sound of a loon, or the sight of a bird of prey above the pine trees.
Eros wiggles his bare feet against the ceramic tiles as he cooks. Hopefully Goldy likes bacon.
