The past few weeks haven’t been conducive to taking my usual lunch-time stroll through Downtown Albany on my days at the office, but last Tuesday I returned to the practice – a reminder of how important it is to break up the work day with a proper mental reprieve. In this case, a walk on a lovely spring day when all the trees were fresh of growth, and a magnolia was just finishing up its early magnificence.
The benches were blessedly empty. Even after a year of quietude and non-crowds, I still embrace this solitude. Beauty can be enjoyed on your own, something I fought against for so long I almost started to forget. A squirrel was my only companion on this walk, and he or she didn’t seem keen on striking up a conversation.
Beneath a magnolia, I paused and did my best to inhabit the moment, to be present, to feel every pulsation the day was eliciting. Such presence is the goal of any good day. I will do better to remember that.
Magnolias are a breed of tree that I’ve always admired from a distance, and in someone else’s yard, where they can deal with the messy aftermath of these glorious blooms. Such thick petals don’t scatter lightly on the wind – they tend to fall straight down, littering the lawn and making a muck of things when spring rains wait only to rot the fallen. But on days like this, when their blossoms are still carried high, brilliant against a blue sky, I entertain fantasies of planting one of these somewhere on our tiny lot.
I’ll try to return to this space in a week to remind myself of why that’s a dirty idea.
