The Very Thought of You came wafting out of the speakers after flipping on jazz upon arriving home from work. I recognized it immediately from the first few bars.
I floated through the house.
It was twilight outside. The windows flung open as the temperature hovered around a perfect 72 just beyond them.
I opted out of motion after my arrival. I poured a chilled Sauvignon Blanc and slipped outside to watch the sun set with a little tray of cheese.
The kids were delayed arriving home and Bray had reported a traffic jam east of town.
I wished for The New Yorker. I felt single again. Not that I wish to be single again, but jazz and white wine on the porch at sunset made me miss good magazines which I’d long since given up.
It was silent save the cars passing by on the road beyond our backyard.
I remembered how stillness makes me long to write. The quiet inspires me. Settles me. In those spaces, I’d craft short journal entries or slow-to-evolve fictional short stories of whatever my mind could imagine.
I flashed back to my 20-something self on Sunday open mic nights and enthusiastically political. Envisioning everything from future great election victories to New York Times best seller lists.
I wandered inside to the intoxicating aromas of cinnamon candles mixed with sweet potatoes baking.
I felt profoundly grateful to have a few unexpected moments on a Monday night in a bustling city in a bustling life to be still. To channel the younger optimism and drive. To recommit to quiet times and optimism and leaving the world a better place.
The music wafted and waned, melodies changing. The oven timer dinged. Headlights appeared in the driveway.
Back to life.
I left the jazz playing and candles lit.