Sunday was like something from a dream. It was quite literally a ray of sun on a cloudy day. Except the day was more like 5 months. The ray was the one day thing.
An enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders at the conclusion of last week. Paper was submitted, event was successfully hosted, articles were finally done, and reading for next week was skimmable. I was home free.
When I woke up a strange brightness was pressing against the blinds and birds were chirping. A frightening thought passed briefly through my mind: had I turned into a vampire over the winter? My second, arguably more alarming suspicion was that I had slept the day away and it was actually 2 p.m. I rubbed the blindness out of my eyes and hit play on my playlist called “slow mornings,” which was made for days such as these.
Borrowed a friend’s hammock, got a couple more friends, and we spent the afternoon between two trees. We brought homework, of course, but there was no real hope there, it was just to make ourselves feel more productive. Jack Johnson played through the speaker as students from Brandt pulled out a table to give out iced tea. A game of Spikeball unfolded before our eyes. Sun soaked country music drifted across the lawn towards where we hung. I kid you not, little girls in pastel dresses were running around with daisy chains in their hands and in their hair. It was basically Easter. I was so excited I think I commented to my friend at one point, “I can smell the grass!”
My face was warm and it was only 60 degrees. There was a crisp breeze and sometimes the sun would hide behind a cloud, but I can’t remember the last time I was so content. I sat in that hammock all afternoon and did nothing. I alternated between idle chat and listening with eyes closed to the voices on the lawn and the trees above me. Idyllic would be the word most fitting to describe last Sunday.
As we rolled up the hammocks and walked to dinner the sun was setting, shooting rays through the trees and turning the clouds pink. It was one of those days where I felt like I could hit pause on 3 p.m and live there for a month.
Then I remembered the next day was Monday. Ah, well.