We woke to sunshine streaming through the window on the cool breeze, no alarms to wrest us from our dreams. We lingered for a bit, feeling the cradling of our pillows, the weight of the comforter, the warmth of sleepy skin and limbs all tangled together.
Ablutions taken care of, we ground coffee by hand and breathed in the scent of it on air still crisp but just beginning to give way to the coming warmth of the day. A leisurely walk with our slow-moving dog, a consensus reached to chase down brunch and a shady patio.
Crunchy potatoes and gooey omelettes stuffed with the season’s bounty and more steaming mugs full of rich, dark coffee. Comfortable silence broken by intermittent conversation. Place and purpose and growth and fear…and courage, of course we talked of courage.
Sated, we drove. Eventually highway turned to backroad and we traded tall buildings for towering trees. Between mountains we found water and still we drove on, past the boat launch and picnic tables, past more trees and more mountains. On we went until a rutted dirt road hinted at solitude and access and we inched and rocked and rumbled our way along it until we reached its terminus at a tiny inlet.
And there we stayed, languishing by emerald water under the shade of lanky ponderosa pines. Chipmunks scurried and chattered, and water lapped, and black and white bellied northern flickers tap-tap-tapped the sticky bark for the buggy treasures hidden below. We read and scribbled and napped and swam. No agenda. No schedule. We quoted to each other funny passages from our books. We talked of nothing and took turns swaying in the hammock and laughed at our silly dog sleeping upside-down in the dirt-bed she so industriously dug for herself.
When the sun began to slide down toward the horizon, we were loathe to leave our quiet space, to relinquish back roads for highways, to pick up our burdens once more. We ambled back down the mountains in contented silence, the warm glitter of late day light sparkling off of the river as it accompanied our path home.
Not every day goes according to plan. Wrenches get thrown and troubles must be faced and the mundane tasks of everyday life can sometimes feel as though they are taking over. But sometimes we get a rare sweet day when there simply is no plan and we make time to be still, to listen to the wind caress the treetops and the waves kiss the shoreline. Sometimes we let go, we stop striving , we allow for possibility and are rewarded with one perfect day.