My on foot journey to the library was uneventful. It was cold enough to make me feel it, but not cold enough to make me wish I had driven. The library itself was fine. I didn’t meet any book loving future girlfriend (I have often met the most interesting people in bookstores and libraries) and while I couldn’t get all the books I wanted, I managed to come away with a few that will keep this week’s commute from being an utter bore.
Today’s perfect moment is a product of my return journey. I chose the scenic route which would take me through a park, past some tennis courts and baseball diamonds–even an oddly placed gazebo.
I was at first fixated on the tennis court because despite the weather, and time of year, the nets were still up. Usually, they are down by November or perhaps December first. I imagined what it would be like to play tennis now. I would need a long sleeve sweater made of some kind of breathable material. I would probably need some gloves that still allowed me to grip the racquet and then I would probably have to wear a toque.
As I contemplated all of this, wondering if I should call my friend for a game, wondering if the lights were still powered, I noticed something else.
I was alone. Totally alone. I had the entire park to myself. I had to stop and check. I had to stop and bask in the emptiness. The leaves on the trees were gone, but the grass was still green. The fair/foul lines were still faintly visible in the grass. However, I was alone.
The park was all mine. The park was all mine.
I am pretty sure that qualifies as Today’s Perfect Moment.