I took this week off from work in an attempt to readjust all of the settings that are out of whack in my system, and yesterday I took our wee $50 kayak out on a nearby lake, alone.
While I fully understand that safety is an illusion and tragedy looms from every shadowed corner and we are all at the mercy of threats both seen and unseen, yesterday morning was really…nice. It was me, a small blue boat, and water, water everywhere. It was quiet. No one asked anything of me for an hour and a half. I asked nothing of anyone. I felt as though I’d stumbled into a perfect equilibrium. There were loons.
I recognize that this week, and my ability to claim it as my own, is a gift that few are able to enjoy. And if I were a better person, I’d be devoting my time to making the world as a whole a better and more just place.
But, no. I’m going to be selfish. I’m going to read books, watch television, cook meals without resentment (well, without MUCH resentment), write my own stuff, and try to let some of the struggle go.
There are a few days every fall that we call Peak Week. When the foliage is just as good as it’s ever going to be and we all take a little bit of extra time to marvel at it.
I think spring has a peak week, too. And I think this week is it. Green rules no matter which window I gaze from, and the lush trees and bushes and gardens haven’t yet taken on the golden taint of later summer. The dust is minimal on dirt roads, and the ponds and lakes and pools are still refreshing. It’s a really wonderful time.
Perhaps especially wonderful after the late winter and early spring we had. The late winter that lasted, literally, forever. The early spring that was still cold. And, oh yes, the specter of illness and revolution casting shadows over every interaction.
But now! It’s green and gorgeous and I have a little blue boat and, for this week anyway, the extra hours to enjoy it.
So, excuse me. The outdoors is calling.
Dear b, your word for next time is window.