Today was a typical Saturday in a lot of ways: soccer games, work around the house and land, a friend of the kids' over. The games were fun to watch, it was nice to get some stuff done, the friend was well-behaved. It was good, just what one hopes for from a Saturday. Saturday is the middle of the weekend, after all: arguably the best day of the week. But for a forty-something with family, home, work, and social life, it seldom affords much peace. Something a little special happened today.
After finishing a couple of projects, I grabbed a book and strung up a hammock under the deck. It was late afternoon and the sun was well below its high point for the day. The land is transformed around here since rain came a couple of weeks
ago; everything has a glisten. Tree leaves passed speckled light in different shades of green, vibrant and rich. Bright mossy edges bordered the oak branches growing dense with their unpredictable directionality.
I settled into my hammock and it was easy to let go. I swung gently from a warm ray of the sun into the cool shadow of tree branches, then back again to the sun. The temperature was perfect. The kids were crafting inside together (cooperatively!). I wasn't worried about something else I should get done. I drifted and dozed a bit, didn't bother to crack the book. I was just there.