Tuesday Magic
It has been a really, really long winter.
Yesterday it was 81 degrees at 2:50pm as I started jogging down a portion of the Atlanta Belt Line I stumbled upon a few days ago. Unsure of where it led, I ran along this little paved road as it twisted and turned through Candler Park, then Freedom Park, and Little 5 Points.
The sun was the brightest it has ever been, like it suddenly bent down low toward planet earth and took a bow. The bradford pears and the cherry blossoms clapped their hands and small pink petals swirled like confetti as I ran over cobblestone paths below.
Heat came from the air, the sky, the ground, my lungs. I got a little sunburned. All of the masses of hipster East Atlanta emerged along with me, nodding as I passed at a pace as quick as my heartbeat. The downtown skyline was visible over my left shoulder once, but it was the small yellow daffodils that stole the show. Cyclists whizzed past me (they really do have those here, I found), and kids climbed all over the art sculptures in the parks.
It was magic of a storybook quality, and I glimpsed something I've only dared to pray for a handful of times these 8 months. I glimpsed happiness. Not happiness because of good fortune or material gain, or even relief from various troubles. Happiness because of a deep connection with the space my body occupied, a deep connection with my surroundings. Awareness of sun, of heat, of sounds, sights, color.
I was happy, I think, because I was in the midst of beauty; because I could feel my roots extending way down beneath me, into a section of the Belt Line I had never discovered before.
Atlanta did not change yesterday. I changed. My roots went deeper as the sun came down closer. The world got small. This is what I mean by "stillness as adventure." I stay. I notice. I change.
And, slowly, Atlanta begins to wake from its cold slumber.
Yesterday it was 81 degrees at 2:50pm as I started jogging down a portion of the Atlanta Belt Line I stumbled upon a few days ago. Unsure of where it led, I ran along this little paved road as it twisted and turned through Candler Park, then Freedom Park, and Little 5 Points.
The sun was the brightest it has ever been, like it suddenly bent down low toward planet earth and took a bow. The bradford pears and the cherry blossoms clapped their hands and small pink petals swirled like confetti as I ran over cobblestone paths below.
Heat came from the air, the sky, the ground, my lungs. I got a little sunburned. All of the masses of hipster East Atlanta emerged along with me, nodding as I passed at a pace as quick as my heartbeat. The downtown skyline was visible over my left shoulder once, but it was the small yellow daffodils that stole the show. Cyclists whizzed past me (they really do have those here, I found), and kids climbed all over the art sculptures in the parks.
It was magic of a storybook quality, and I glimpsed something I've only dared to pray for a handful of times these 8 months. I glimpsed happiness. Not happiness because of good fortune or material gain, or even relief from various troubles. Happiness because of a deep connection with the space my body occupied, a deep connection with my surroundings. Awareness of sun, of heat, of sounds, sights, color.
I was happy, I think, because I was in the midst of beauty; because I could feel my roots extending way down beneath me, into a section of the Belt Line I had never discovered before.
Atlanta did not change yesterday. I changed. My roots went deeper as the sun came down closer. The world got small. This is what I mean by "stillness as adventure." I stay. I notice. I change.
And, slowly, Atlanta begins to wake from its cold slumber.
Comments
Post a Comment