This tiny slum of a village is really the tip of the iceburg of perfection in my mind. The people are kind. The dogs run wild and howl through the night. The lawns are never mowed. The yards are never free of scattered toys. And the roads are made of dust. It's much like the opposite of a "perfect" city subarb. Nothing about this place is perfect. But everything about this place is wonderful. A slow pace full of patience. Not a eye awakes till noon. Not a one complains when things take time to finish. Things move as fast as needed, no faster. Most of the year it's quiet. Only the pitter pattering of children's feet and mouse steps on the snow. Occassionally the happy chattering of a squirrel. I cannot imagine life anywhere else. Well, I suppose I can. But I can't imagine that life being any better than this one. Perfect amongst it's beautiful imperfections.
