Finally. A day off that didn't involve mile long to-do lists, the spending of money I'm only starting to make, and the organizing of a somewhat still in-transition life. This would be a day for me. For eating and walking, for seeing and smelling. A day for making friends with my new neighborhood.
So I ate, and I walked. I saw, and I smelled.
Breakfast. My one true love. Here it comes with giant bottles of water, cinnamon laced coffee, mountains of fresh fruit, and yogurt so creamy it melts on your tongue.
The Market. The bustling yet somehow calming streets where cars bow down to bicycles, and the pedestrian reigns. I fill my canvas bags with fruits and veggies, fresh bagels and cheese. I smile at the eccentrics on the corner and tuck a new vintage scarf into my purse.
|Yes, that is indeed the light of the cheese gods shining down on Mendel's Creamery.|
$2 wheel of brie, anybody?
The park. Green grass and leaves of orange and yellow. Children squealing with laughter while dogs run circles around them. I ride my bike along the paths and breathe in the crisp fall air, wondering if the city has indeed melted away outside the borders of this place.
I'm not sure I could have asked for a more perfect day.
You hear that, Sunday? That's a challenge.