Today, I’ve escaped.
I sit at a small lake, looking out over the still waters. The suns rays are warmer than expected on this chill day in late September. Most leaves are still green, a testimony to a wetter than wet summer this year. I listen to the cheeps, chirrups and chirps of birds. The water is too still to splash. For a moment, everything recedes. It takes time to slow down. Time to breathe, to let go, to stop the daily hustle. A mouse scurries somewhere nearby. A fish leaps to catch an insect on the top of the water, briefly breaking the surface before disappearing, leaving only ripples behind. I close my eyes. I wait for the slowing. The quietening on the inside. My shoulders drop. My jaw releases. I open my eyes. The lake in front of me is so clear, reflecting the trees faithfully in its green depths. I pick up my backpack and continue to walk.