The Perfect Sunday

OK, describe paradise.  How about lying in a grassy meadow, under dappled sunlight filtered by tall fir and deciduous trees.  Your loved ones are with you too, dozing on the blankets spread about.  Furry pets drop by to snuggle before heading off on their next adventure.  A rooster crows, occasionally, and every so often a small plane circles overhead.  A young eagle draws lazy figure eights in the bright turquoise sky.

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.