It's the morning of a glorious summer day in the South. The kind of day where walking under the magnolia tree is like walking through perfume. I inhale, drowning in the scent, never wanting it to recede or fade. The breeze wafts slowly by me, caressing my skin with the fragrance.
I sit in the creaky old swing under the shade of the magnolia tree, gazing up through its branches and deep jade-colored leaves to the cerulean sky above. Swinging myself slowly with one foot, I wonder how hot the afternoon is likely to get, but, then I decide that I don't care. I'll just go inside when I get too hot; it's not something I need to worry about.
I see Mr. O'Neal drive by slowly in the squeaky mail truck and wave when he stops to slide some envelopes in the busted up mailbox. He smiles, nods, and waves before moving on. I suppose I should get up and see what bills there are to pay, but, well, life is full of "shoulda, woulda, coulda". It can wait.
My day is shaping up to be a whole lot of nothing; the perfect lazy, slow, summer vacation day. I make myself comfortable and pull out my book. It's a tale of romance, of love simmering like a pot on a low flame.
The love story isn't about a flashy, exciting, maddening fireworks kind of love. No, it is a love born of the slow burn, the low embers that never die, only needing a soft fanning to leap brightly again. The kind of love that I crave.
I hear the phone ring in my pocket, and I fish it out but I don't recognize the number. I don't need the urgency of a phone call right now. If they want to talk to me, they can leave a message. If they need to talk to me, they can call back. I turn it off and slowly put it away and continue on, lazily, with my day.
Slow. Yes, that is exactly how the day feels and I'm happier for it. The breeze blows again, rattling the leaves around me and swirling a fresh whiff of magnolia under my nose.
My vacation time isn't all like this, but, today, I will allow it to just be. Slow wind, slow swings, slow love... perfect. I sigh. I do indeed like these days. Life is... slow.