Birds are singing springtime serenades to their amours and the world smells clean and new. The resident owl hoots softly. Boyish giggling, wafting from the house, interrupts nature’s symphony. Somewhere, machinery tackles a neighbor’s project. A gentle breeze tickles toes.
I lie on my tummy, reading a book about another idyllic place, a different special life, slowly sipping the spicy syrah we crushed and barreled over 3 years ago as my eyes scan the page describing life in a village in Normandy. Mark breathes deeply beside me, finally having succumbed to the temptation of a lazy Sunday afternoon. His hammer and drill are quiet, abandoned under the honest-to-goodness-almost-finished treehouse.
The power of a laptop inspires me to bring mine out after depositing my son and his friend at the start of their playdate. My gaze catches the empty clothesline, triggering my guilt at the wet clothes inside and the wasted solar energy…but I shrug it off. Enough with the efficiency and the To Do list.
This part of this day is for just this.