If I could draw I would draw it

I always go home on my lunch break. 

But there was something about this particular day that made me not want to get in my car. 

I started walking.

The sun beckoned.

I wanted to be lost in the trees, the sudden burst of nature tucked away between all those admin buildings, that made you forget you spent the majority of your week surrounded by grey cubicle wall.

(Of course, mine were pink, because if you can cover anything in holographic sparkly paper, you really should).

I walked to the point I'd walked before and instead of turning around to circle back, I kept going. 

The rain had gathered in a giant mud puddle destroying the path in front of me. 

And cleverly, or so I thought, I jumped around it, veering off course towards the grass (wetlands, is probably more accurate) and the further I got from the path and the giant rain puddle, the more apparent it became that the field was a sea of mud.

I laughed as my steps grew more and more laborious, realizing a splash of rain water would have destroyed my shoes far less than the layer of mud soaking through my worn out shoes. 

But I was happy. 

My greatest soul secret is that I long for adventuring more than anyone, even myself, realizes. 

I'm a city girl and I love my fancy dresses and my cosmetics and my slumber parties with my girls and late nights in the back of some strangers car. 

But I also love, no long, for adventure, outside.

With the bugs and the dirt and the unforeseen circumstances that usually result with me falling or ruining something I'm wearing. 

But oh, that adventure.

Feeds my soul the way passionate sex does.

And as I continued along the path having survived the swamp I thought was a short cut, I suddenly stopped. 

And giggled. 

There in front of me, with the sun beaming of the poles, was a swing set. 

That I never knew even existed because I'd never walked so far on this path before. 

And I ran up the hill, with the fresh mud squishing in between my toes, and threw down my keys and my phone. 

The swings I'd stumbled across on the beach in Alicante were one of my happiest memories there. 

Marjie let down her stubborn pretense and laughed and finally got lost in the moment with me.

It was as though the pure childish joy I felt over something as arbitrary as swings was contagious. 

And in that moment we were free to be ourselves with each other. 

And now here I was, all these months later, alone, on a similar swing set. 

The blue sky violently bright above me, white clouds swirled about like melted marshmallow.

I felt so sublimely happy. 

And I really didn't even understand why. 

Maybe the fact that I was alone,

Adventuring,

Accidentally.  

That I'd stumbled upon something I love with a very soul I love. 

And in that moment, under that sun, that was enough.

A part of me wanted to reach for my camera and something in me nudged me not to. 

Like I didn't want to capture or share the moment. 

I wanted entirely for my own. 

And there's something sacred in that. 

I love communicating. 

I thrive in sharing the stories that flood my heart. 

But the rare occurrences that silence me,

Those are kind of spectacular. 

Like a lover, who tells you he's never kissed anyone the way he kisses you.

And no one can duplicate that ecstasy or understand that wonder.

But me. 

And those moments are mine. 

And I cherish them.

My muddy shoes, glistening in the sun, eagerly awaiting the steps that will stumble upon the next unexpected delight, the next adventure, waiting to worship me, worship the moon, the stars we never could escape.