Out my window, I gaze upon a church, a pink house, an alarming number of squirrels, and a yard that is often in need of a cut. I count the rabbits that frolic, and pray the stray cats aren’t nearby. I keep a close watch on the weather, because I seem to serve as the local weatherman, and look for my buddy, the black lab, that lives two doors down. I can’t complain about the temperature yet, we’re hovering at a stable 73°. Pollen is present, but it’s raining frequently enough to keep it beat down. The redbuds are in full bloom, the dogwoods are just beginning, and the daffodils are quickly expiring. The birds sing all day long. It’s quiet, for the most part.

I’m near the library, and the school, and the police station. It feels safe in my cozy space. It’s not a town where many walk, but I do. Not necessarily to get anywhere in particular, just to enjoy the day while I can. Away from my backyard where I look out at a church, a pink house, and a multitude of squirrels. I go to see the cherry tree, and the red tulips down the road, and the old man at the corner sitting in his lawn chair with his wooden cane and mesh back hat. He always speaks and remarks upon the weather.

There goes a rabbit.

When the phone rings, it startles me from my reverie, even though the ring is now melodic.

There are forms to be filled out, calls to make, and appointments to schedule. But I’d rather sit and listen to the birds and count the rabbits and watch the rain. It’s so pleasant to be in a place where you can look out at the world and maybe daydream just a minute about the lives going on in the neighboring historic houses. Or maybe their lives, right here, a hundred years ago. Maybe not much has changed, other than the sheer number of people going places fast. Maybe if they would take a minute to reflect, they would see that this is still a special place, filled with people who appreciate the beauty of the everyday.