Surrounded by sweet smelling azaleas and a rainbow of blooms, I unpacked the small bag. The wind made a quick pillow underneath the blanket as I tossed it toward the sky before helping it find its place in the cool grass. Blanket, book, diet coke – lunch could wait. All around me I discovered the voices and visions of spring – laughing children, parents urging caution, grandparent-aged couples walking hand-in-hand, girlfriends of all ages curing the cares of the world.

The sun was more than warm on my face. Shorts would have made sense, but I hadn’t worn them. Kicking my flip-flops to the side, my toes explored the soft green just beyond the blanket while my eyes caught the layers of color:

green grass,
yellow and white pansies,
blips of orange and purple,
red and pink azaleas,
dogwoods – white and pink,
and sky as blue as the baby’s eyes

I was quiet. I was still. I watched. I listened.

I turned back to the bag where lunch was waiting – cheese and crackers, carrots, strawberries - simple, finger food. I ate slowly, deliberately – noticing the world – its textures and tastes. Feeling its rhythm – the rhythm we are so quick to rush. Sensing its balance – the balance we are so apt to upset.

Time moved slowly in the garden. But soon – too soon – my fair skin turned pick in the springtime sun. I filled the bag. I folded the blanket. My feet found the flip-flops. It was time to go.