I had one of my favorite kinds of days today. It’s sunny and clear at 50 degrees, a slight breeze, soft sunlight. Nowhere to be, nothing on the schedule.
I had breakfast and a mocha at my favorite café down the street and read my book as long as I liked, watched people come and go from the intimate shop, some with little children picking out goodies from the well-stocked glass display case, mothers and daughters meeting up and arguing good-naturedly over who will pay this time, young men waiting patiently for their coffee as the lone barista spines plates and answers phones in a well-known dance.
After, I ventured down Main Street, past the little farmers market in the parking lot of the station, past the tracks that will take me to work on Monday, down through a quiet neighborhood and to the park, a conversation with a kind stranger walking with his grandchildren and watching the squirrels.
There’s something about a clear September day that makes anything feel possible.
The stress of life melts away under the sharp crystalline sky, blown past on a crisp breeze holding a nip of colder winds to come.
Sunlight dappling the path through changing leaves in mesmerizing patterns—a wooden bridge sits sturdy and content over a gurgling river lush with life. Every sunray caught on the ripples wink up with cheerful care.
Even the critters foraging for acorns and treasures pause a moment to watch the passing current.
This stillness is not still, though. It’s peaceful, not from lack of movement, but lack of worries.
Every inhale brings the scent of mulch and rich earth—fall, ready for debut. The sound of rushing water a soft hum across the way. Rustling branches from skittering chipmunks and squirrels serve as a base for the calls of birds overhead.
I got to write this under the shade of towering trees, perched on a fallen trunk with tears in my eyes.
We don’t always see the toll it takes to get through every day, we don’t feel each impact of stress as it jabs into us. It’s only when we try to match the still peace by the river that we feel the true rush of chaos that runs under our skin, and can feel it release and be swept away with the twigs and fallen leaves, under the bridge, farther and farther until only a blink in the distance remains.
They don’t stay gone, but at that moment, you can rise and lift your chin again, ready for what’s to come and resolved with what has passed.
These are the days that I dream of.
