Magic
I realized I was whistling when I pulled out my bicycle this morning to go to work. And I kept on singing all my way down to the river, feeling the fresh morning air in my hair, Paolo Nutini in my ears and casually steering with one hand.
The river is so bright in the morning sunshine, I can barely look at it, all glimmery and sparkly. The pigeons are too lazy to get properly out of the way and the fat water rats chase the ducks. The trees just brush my hair as I swoosh by and there is still the scent of green in the air, though it's less obvious, now a bit of cold has come. The magic lasts even when I leave the riverbank to go uptown and into the traffic.
I reckon it might be a good one today.
The river is so bright in the morning sunshine, I can barely look at it, all glimmery and sparkly. The pigeons are too lazy to get properly out of the way and the fat water rats chase the ducks. The trees just brush my hair as I swoosh by and there is still the scent of green in the air, though it's less obvious, now a bit of cold has come. The magic lasts even when I leave the riverbank to go uptown and into the traffic.
I reckon it might be a good one today.
Comments