The striated horizon in colors of fuchsia, goldenrod, lavender, lilac, and plum would be enough, really, but then, add in the smoothly rippled surface of the lake, undulating softly beneath, not to mention the two-dimensional backdrop of noble trees and downtown skyline; all that would make for a picture that was too beautiful to be real, but then, paint in that perfect little fingernail sliver of a smile for the waxing crescent moon, and you would look at the overall effect and scoff, thinking that the artist had jumped the shark in their composition; what is this Thomas Kinkaid bullshit, no actual sky ever looked like that; the only heavens that might appear so lovely would be the actual unreal Heaven itself.
I mean, really.
But goddamn if Nature herself isn’t a true cornball, because, so help me God, it was all there, making your jaw drop at the exquisite pulchritude of the scene and your heart hurt at the incredible good fortune you enjoy to be able to witness it instead of roasting for 19 straight days of over 110 degree heat in Phoenix or some other dying city in the West.
One does what one can to express gratitude for such bounty, even if that’s just switching to bamboo floss picks at a minimum, because it’s not just what you do, but how you do it, and when you do what you do by riding bikes to get there, you clearly earn a few bonus points, which you are able to immediately cash in by swimming not once, but twice before the night moves on to another phase of unreasonable, unbelievable, extravagant beauty.