13 Little Blue Envelopes - Maureen Johnson

All the early morning gray and lavender was burning off fast, and a bright blue sky blossomed above her.

Overhead, intricate patterns of lights and wire had been webbed between every streetlight, forming pictures of musical notes and sleighs.

There was something so good about the morning that they could be silent and just drink in the sun and enjoy their own behavior.

The water under them was a crayon-bright turquoise—the kind of color she’d never believed water could be.

They slugged through the water at a slow enough pace to allow seabirds to land on the deck, rest, and then take off again.

There’s nothing quite like a long, slow boat ride to clear your thoughts, Gin. A good, slow ferry that takes its time and leaves you baking in the sun off the coast of Italy.

It lasted for about four minutes, and pretty soon it was, “No shoe should be judged by its footprint, for the foot has a print of its own.”

I’ve never had a good memory for quotes. I’ve always tried to remember them, but it never works out.

The really astonishing thing was, as she heard her own voice echoing around the huge bar, it almost sounded right.

The sun hung steadily in the sky, only condescending to drop to a twilight level but never disappearing from view.