Most of the time, the days and weeks pass by in a blur with nary a thought for the outside world. But damn, the first few nice days of the year do it to me every time. Walking the yard in a T-shirt and shorts I can’t get my mind off my family and friends outside.
I think about driving around with the windows down and the music loud. I reminisce about day drinking on front porches and in the Arb. I miss walking around downtown, and having beers outside of Charley’s or Ashley’s. I think about the art fair and all the events held during the weekend, of the crowds milling about all hours of the day, of watching (as non creepily as possible) girls sunbathe in bikinis. I remember all the great trips that started as a way to relieve the boredom on a lackadaisical sunny day and ended up in epiphany.
I look out past the gates, seeing the trees in the distant horizon. There are not any on the yard. I haven’t sat in a tree’s shade in 2 years. I used to do it all the time with a good book, and I recall one instance specifically, settling my back against its trunk while reading a collection of Bukowski’s poetry. It was titled “You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense”, and at that moment, it did, and still does.
I like the watch the sun set over these trees on these balmy, spring days, and listen to music on my tablet. And then when “It Won’t Stop” by Sevyn Streeter queues up, it’s all too much and I will my spirit or soul or whatever to cross over that fence, and rejoin the life that has been going on without me. Soon, I whisper, soon.