Weekend in Words

This Sunday was like any other.  I wake up.  I let out dogs.  I putz around on the computer for an hour, email the hubby, then pick up a book to read.  I love Sundays because they're my day off from working out; I am allowed to be lazy and lame and just lay on the couch cuddled up with my furry friends.  I make sure I take a break from reading [if I don't set an alarm, I'll spend the whole day caught up in a world of make-believe and get nothing done].  I take the pups on a stroll behind our village.

The forest surrounding our town is full of life now; the once brown and dying trees have sprung back to life, and envelope us in a corridor of greenery as we I mosey down the path.  Believe me, the dogs never mosey.  They sprint, race, run, jump, hurdle; anything but mosey.  Eventually the woods empties us out into an unused field.  I walk halfway across, and stop.  And this is when it happens.

I have a moment of pure happiness.  Standing in the waist high grass, face tilted toward the sun, lulled by the music of the birds; I no longer feel the stress, or worry, or loneliness that exists in everyday life.  Right at that point in time, it doesn't matter that my husband is gone, that there are personal issues I'm dealing with, that I'm disappointed with certain aspects of my life.  Instead, I'm completely content.  I know that if I take another step forward, all of that will fade, and the usual burdens will come crashing down on my shoulders, but right now; right now, I am surrounded by lilac and baby's breath and forsythia, the dogs are ecstatically dancing circles around me, and a family is meandering down another path.  I am warm from the sun, warm from my feelings.  I am happy and untainted and okay.  I will be okay.

I take another step, and reality is here.  The happiness fades, but doesn't disappear, and is what has kept me in such a wonderful mood.  The belief that whatever may come, I will be okay.  It's never easy.  But I can do it.