Some days are just not meant for bitchin’. Everyone floated up to the surface today, stretched, and felt the glorious sun for the first time in many months, a warm sun, a beautiful warm day. We biked out to Peninsula Park, sat between the baseball games and the fountain. We watched a squirrel precariously balancing on one of the topmost twigs of a bare tree. I’d never seen a squirrel go so high. I can’t imagine what it was after, maybe the sun.
I thought about what it would be like to play the cello in the gazebo. If I knew how to play one, I would go to Peninsula Park on the first warm day in Spring and pull my bow across the strings, bring out that mellow resonance. Cellos, oboes, bassoons, English horns–for me these are like comfort food. There is no anxiety in such instruments. Sadness, melancholy, but no anxiety and no shallowness.
But I did complain later about being just a little too warm. Just a little. Not enough to jinx it, I think.