It’s Saturday morning and I’m lazing in the sun chair.
I always make my way back to this place, this little corner of my world that feeds me so beautifully to the sun. It’s a place for just ‘being’, this sun chair of mine, and these days— more than ever before—I need a place to just ‘be’.
For a great deal of yesterday, the sun chair and I sat and listened to the sounds of life as they broke through the window beside us. The calming wind, the gum trees with their squawking cockatoos and paper leaves; there was also the beautiful music that flowed in through my ears and out through my soul. The sun chair and I listened to those sounds, and they became us for a while.
It was awfully nice.
I don’t know why I’ve chosen the sun chair as my new ‘happy place’, and I don’t think I really have to know. It just feels nice to be here, so I keep coming back.
When the night wakes me I lie in bed and march through life in my mind, smiling at all the lovely things, frowning at all the things I wish the day had kept to itself.
I don’t know why the night chooses me as its ‘sometimes companion’. Perhaps it knows that I will always give it a chance to speak its mind.
Perhaps it thinks that I might like to speak my mind with it.
Which I would, of course;
If only the night called itself ‘the day’ and wore the sun bright and warm in its sky.