Grey, wind and rain.
Yet I ventured out, the lure of farm-fresh produce at the weekly outdoor
green market irresistible. Admittedly nudging me out
the door as well was the plastic bag in the kitchen, filled to the brim with
over-ripening veggie and fruit scraps clearly ready for the compost project at
the far end of the market.
Fully aware of
the slim possibility of finding parking, I still took the car out of its rare spot
in front of my building, relying on the benevolence of the parking gods there and
back. Circling the packed streets only
twice, I was relieved to see a space halfway up the road which winds up the
hill through the park surrounding the market.
Although it meant a long walk, the dark green leafy trees, dripping with
the intermittent rain, made me smile and stop.
Two smooth maneuvers later, settled in to my satisfaction and getting a thumbs-up from two women trekking up the hill, I turned off
the motor and climbed out of the car onto the sidewalk. Damp
fragrant tree branches arched overhead, rustled by a gentle cool breeze. Next to me, framed by
benches and a low rough stone wall, the park, here a generous patch of forest
and dirt paths, stretched away to the distant shore of the Hudson River.
Breathing deeply of the smell of damp earth
erased years and took me back to summers in the woods of Massachusetts, away
from the cement and bustle of the city to the hopefulness of a young spirit out
in the open. Infused with that
expectation of wonders to come, I felt moved to tears in gratitude for the
reminder and for the continuing possibilities of the present. With another deep breath, I put up my huge
sky-blue umbrella, feeling like a kid again under its shelter, and made my way
down to the busyness and bounty waiting below.
