Get outside. Find a nice place to sit in a comfy lawn chair or grass, and take a minute with your surroundings. Really breathe it in. What does the sun feel like on your skin? What does the breeze taste like? What colors do you see, and what sounds remind you that the world is alive. Now, write.
Archie, a trusty companion, is by her side, nipping at flies, ears alerting, head swiveling to tune in. She’s tuning in too; to the glow of the westerly sun and the way its touch rests ever so gently on her face, forearm, and ankle. The breeze, with its director-like presence, sends strands of hair across her nose, its cooling sensation flows over her chin, lips, and face, and the lover-like brush of fingertips across the exposed part of her lower back.
The breeze tastes sweet to her, like a southern sweet tea or berry sparkler – something to sip, a sensation to revisit, and enjoy its sprightly spill into her.
Nearby she spots a patch of brown, deadened blackberries the size of a small sedan. Burgundy and army green leaves cling to its fishing rod tendrils, and she’s in awe of how they’ve endured winter’s insistent blows. They’re zest to fight another day is admirable yet infuriates her.
To her right is a ravine; the frog’s layered croaks echoing from it are a welcoming banner of spring. If distracted, one might miss the orchestra’s sudden halt, but not her. No. The bunch’s calibrated talent at pausing at an impending threat is as wonderous to her as the flip of a conductor’s wand at the symphony’s end.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 