Although the sensation did not truly occur in the span of 24 hours, it will be conceived in such a way, as memories often are, so the soothing stretch of rail winding through the dark and familiar tunnels in a cloud-crested forest will reside next to the neuron occupied by refreshing waters inviting tired-legged teammates to a post-game bath.
This process will inevitably distill my recollection, but it need not be so, for reality was perfect as it was. I might not have realized this truth hadn't a pinnacle of fiction been lying in my lap, but the novel held the key to what had previously been an indecipherable manuscript. Upon my fifth visit to the Bodensee, I could therefore live in the nostalgia of the present, as if I was reading a really good book. It's hard to comprehend in this world that a little angel could pause mid-sentence to pick up a four-leaf-clover and hand it to you with nonchalance, or that a family could walk a path past dusk toward woods alight with the shimmer of a trillion glow-worms. But I now believe that utopias aren't the inventions of authors, but rather their inspirations.
Applying this lesson to places other than the Bodensee has yielded encouraging results. A little reflection can uncover the extraordinary embedded in every day. It might take some internal rewording to see things in this light, but it is not to be confused with passive acceptance or with gasping at the slightest provocation. I believe instead this summer is and has been genuinely amazing, and with this realization I plan on living like the "good ol' days" are here and now.
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