A perfect spring day happens without expectation. The baby is not grizzly; he hangs out in his new sling, on your back, and enjoys a fresh perspective.
The 3 year old is giddy and happy to be with friends, outside, handfuls of bread for curious ducks and swaggering geese.
It only rains in small, easy doses and it’s warm rain so no one minds. The ground soaks up the sun. Around, the trees stretch out and invite you closer.
It would be easy to miss a day like today, to not go out, to hold on a little longer to an inside routine. It would be easy to forget your coat and assume it’s warmer than it is.
A perfect spring day is neither cold nor warm. The air is saturated in bulbs and blossom. The wind whips your hair across your face.
If the baby is tired he doesn’t show it. The gardens are filled with topiary trees that seem otherworldly, and you forget the habits of a city you think you know well, just for a moment.
This is a new space. A quiet mystery.
And because you feel displaced, on the tip of discovery, everything is whole and perfect for one moment. The sunlight, the laughter and movement, the statue. You are glad to be outside, with friends. You know there will be more days like this.