It is a perfect book kind-of-day.

The late August heat feels like a warm blanket, the sky is baby blue and cloudless.

It is these kinds of days that I remember as a kid, growing up somewhere in St Thomas. Trapping tadpoles, splashing around in the kiddie pool in the backyard, racing up and down the long skinny garden playing tag and peeking through the gaps in the wooden fence at the neighbours.

There is one word to describe this innocent childhood memory and that is: Happy.

And that is exactly how I feel today sitting here, book in hand, strangers all around me, revelling in the moment of being alive.

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