What a beautiful morning for a walk. I almost rush outside to catch the sun’s kindest rays. As soon as I shut the gate behind me, I am lost in a flow of memories: of recent walks along cool, shady trails, blooming wild flowers, dogs frolicking on the beach, and the naked man running on the sand, seconds away from entering the frame of a young couple’s photo. I see all the different landscapes I didn’t realize I had grown to love so much. I remember a window through which I always peeked–all kinds of white plates hanging on the dining room wall. I feel my hands inside my pockets, seeking warmth. I feel them lovingly held.
But I am no longer there. I take myself firmly back to the present, my legs beginning to sweat, my feet on hot pavement. At that moment, I summon appreciation for this place, my current home. I have been in a state of disappointment and restlessness, looking out into the world for some place else to live, then realize I am being shown it is not time for that yet. The universe has not moved with me on this intention; instead, obstacles–external and internal–keep presenting themselves.