Just finished another Netflix interlude with Morgan Freeman. Do not tell Gene, but I think I have a crush on Mr. Freeman. And his rendition of the leading man in the movie was wonderful. Freckles and all. Of course the real Mr. Freeman might not be quite the same as the character but that is okay. For 109 minutes I was able to drift along in a fantasy.
The Magic of Belle Isle was funny, tender and uplifting in an old person finding new life kind of way. I am not a movie critic by any means nor do I even want to be. For tonight, this quite little movie touched something in me. It rustled the leaves of my soul where I long ago buried my hopes. It reminded me there was a time when I thought I had something to offer in this world. Then as soon as the final credits run I realize how foolish I am to think I have much of anything the world even needs.
As I prepare to shut down the computer for the night and head to bed the reality of my world surrounds me. The reality of the wonderful man waiting for me to join him in our bed. To simply touch fingertips across the stupid hump in the mattress we each are too fat to climb. To snuggle my cold feet to his warm calf. To drift quietly together into sleepy magic.