I feel as though I have not been outside in days. Have I really just stayed cooped up in the house, writing and staring out into the outdoors for the past few days?
Now that I am out, I can’t stop breathing in the smells of the new season, drinking in the colours. They are breathtaking.
Crab apples hang heavy on the trees against a backdrop of impossible blue. Black-eyed Susans glow gold, their petals bursting open to the sky.
I wander aimlessly along the water contemplating the quiet shimmering dance of the light it reflects up onto the underside of a bridge. I pause to watch little minnows eating – they follow flies along below the surface of the water, their heads popping up at just the right moment to grab their tiny prey.
I have no place to be; today is my own. I thought I’d sit on some stairs to read but now that I’m out, I want to keep walking. And so I do, book tucked reassuringly under my arm.
I’m loving this book. I don’t want to finish it it’s so good, and yet I want to immerse myself in it too. I wish I could write something so captivating and engaging. Something that takes hold of my readers’ hearts and remains imprinted there for years to come, beside other favourite stories.
Perhaps one day I will.
I find a patch of emerald green and lie down in it, under a stately, ancient willow. The sun is warm, the breeze is cool and I stare into the deep, uninterrupted blue, becoming mezmerized, hypnotized.
I fall asleep and dream. Perfect peace.