It was supposed to be winter, but the day was unseasonably mild, warm even.
I dressed quickly, confident that I needed neither hat nor gloves, and left the house, lured outside by the sun, the warmth and the joyful day they promised. I walked up the nearby hill, energized by the spirit of spring.
The clouds were fluffy, white and moving fast, turning nature’s painting into an animation, at least for those with patience enough to stare into the distant sky.
I stood on the bridge over the creek, looking at the melting ice, the families of ducks and the families of humans, the latter adhering to the signs banning them from feeding the former. I was more worried by the dogs, for there were no signs telling them not to feed on me.
The squirrels seemed to have no food shortage at all, judging by their happy faces. With the melting snow, they found the caches of food that they, or their colleagues, had prepared a few short months ago.
Children, oblivious to all of this, were running around, irresponsibly unleashed by their owners.
Trees were waking up from hibernation, freshly brewed maple syrup running through their veins (this was in Canada, after all). The flowers must have gorged on something delicious, too, for they looked deliriously colorful that day.
Whenever I passed a bench, I sat down, soaking in the sun. As I was reading a chapter or two of a novel, the sun became stronger as if she wanted to look over my shoulder and partake in the pleasure.
When I came home after four, five, maybe six hours, my heart content as only a day in nature can achieve it, I checked my e-mails. Two potential clients complained that I hadn’t replied to their messages, taking their business elsewhere. This would mean another month of struggling financially, of eating nothing but rice and soup, another month of dread.
A sense of beauty, of happiness even, can really be detrimental to so-called success.
Yet, on the next sunny day, I will go out again. There is enough winter in the world, literally and metaphorically.