Every Day is a Glory Day

I close my eyes. I can hear the splash of the water, the laughter of the children. I take a deep breath, the scent of chlorine and barbecue fills the air. The sun beats down, it feels more like July than August. The Dog Days, these must be them.

Work was heavy last week. Every day worked seemed to be followed by an especially demanding evening. The curse of doing too much. The consequence of having it too good. I look around, it's all here. Now. An afternoon in time. A beach ball lands at my feet and instinctively I kick it back into the water.

The sky above is a remarkable blue, and I remember that no matter where I lay my head there's just no sky like the one here, at home. It's deep and wide, it's clouds are bright white. It this sky I stared up at, on my back, from the grass of my childhood front yard, making shapes out of nothing. My feet are hot on the pool deck and it brings me back to the moment.

I can't quite put my finger on what it is here lately. I can't quite understand why it's suddenly so easy to take stock. To look out into the blue or into the faces of people I care about, and realize how lucky I am. Maybe it's just summertime, maybe it's the hard work, maybe it's age. I can feel it, though. It's tangible. Although I'm not ever likely to stop trying to do more and work harder, I'm glad I can see where I'm at. It's a quiet reassurance to know that even if it were to all stop tomorrow, I'd still have known it today.