Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. The title of this series came from my former commute into work, when I took the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually ended up facing backwards, watching as the city slipped by. Now that I work from home, these vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see, but not necessarily from the light rail window.
I walk out the door and the crisp air brushes the dark hair on my arms. I slip into my light jacket. The air feels the way a bite into a fresh honeycrisp apple tastes like, a burst of flavour over my tongue. When I walk on the sidewalk, it’s like there are cat crinkle balls under my feet with the crush and crumble of leaves shedding old colours to ignite on fire. They aren’t the same vibrancy of other years; still, they demand attention.
My school bag hangs on my shoulders, as we walk to the local coffee shop. There is laughter, light winds, and bright blue sky. Perhaps there is supposed to be rain later, but now? This afternoon is perfect. We meander, making a last minute decision to stop in a local store and drool over bags we like. We wander and giggle and then head back into the beautiful day.
Warm drinks calm the light chill, and we read about our respective topics. We take final sips of our drinks and head back into the afternoon, our sleeves rolled up – not in hard work or exertion, but to enjoy what the earth is offering us today.