(Date unknown. This was written on typing paper, so I am assuming it was the Brother word processor era, which ranged between 1995 – 1999.)
I sat by a tree, reading Emerson’s “Self-Reliance,” enjoying the beginnings of Fall. A glimpse of light seemed to slip its way through the nooks and crannies of overhanging trees covering a path, which led up to where I was resting. A tree in the middle of this somewhat shaded path. It almost seems as if this tree, this inanimate object of living nature, had been excluded from the many trees that were surrounding this path.
The tree was a rebel, a nonconformist, a loser, an outcast — or — maybe just a tree.
I seem to remember feeling this content on a few occasions other than this day, but none so serene.
I love this day, and would love every day to be just like it. Yet, if every day were like today, then there would be nothing to look forward to except the same day over and over again.
Changes are truly good.