A Saturday Moment

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.