Flah-ridah

River Ridge, Georgia, 2011, Rebecca Scott

             

You know those lovely Sunday afternoons, where you finally relax enough to just be?

You're home alone or at your best friend's house just aiming your eyes at the TV. The sound is down because you're both tired and want to enjoy the sound of the rain outside.

You let yourself go in and out of consciousness, napping most of the day. Then you hear the rain slow to a constant, slow drip just outside the open window. I call that a gray day.

It might actually be gray with clouds and fog or it might even be sunny and so hot nothing seems to move.

Those days are life for me. They mean I have finally reached a moment where I can breathe. All my muscles are unwound and my breathing is slow and deep. Occasionally one corner of my mouth turns up...all by itself, as my mind wanders into and out of memories.

When I moved to Florida, I worried I wouldn't get perfect gray days anymore. For over 20 years, Georgia provided perfect, drippy, lazy days and they became a lifeline. I would often find myself staring at the rain landing in puddles on the ground in my back yard. The moments broken up by my pup Lola wandering in and out of the open door.

Turns out, Florida has perfect gray days too. I think they might even be lazier here.

There's so much water everywhere. Lakes and lakes for days even outside my window. Ducks and other birds float by or stick their long beaks into the wet soil for lunch. I even saw one bird take a fish out of the lake and swallow it whole.

Might be time for lunch.

What a beautiful life this is.