May 9, 2024 • 32 mins
Our story tonight is called "A Dance in the Park," and it’s a story about coming back into the world after a bit of time spent alone. It’s also about a glass of pink hibiscus tea, window shopping on a downtown street, and moving to the music on a sunny day.
So get cozy and ready to sleep.
Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-Happens
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
Welcome to Bedtime Stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens,
you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolay.
I read and write all the stories you hear on
(00:25):
Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. Today
marks six years of telling you bedtime stories, which has
become the most exciting gentle adventure of my life. And
(00:48):
it seems fitting that today I can share something I've
been working on for quite a while, something created just
for you to bring a piece of the village into
your homes and to guide you into healthy wind down
routines that will feel so good. This month, we are
(01:13):
releasing but Nothing Much Happens wind Down Box, a wellness
box of hand selected products that I personally use and
that I love, along with a few exclusive stories to
round out your cozy routines. Each box features products specially
(01:38):
selected for your relaxation, from Everescio Wellness's Chill Now, a
high potency organic certified Raschi mushroom extract to nutri Champs
tart cherry gummies great for sleep and reducing inflammation, and
they taste great. There's a lavender candle to mark your
(02:04):
moment of calm from our favorite small batch candle maker's
Vella box. A meditative activity for you by way of
a Brighter Year's mini coloring book, a fantastic way to
disconnect from your screen and tap into your creative self
(02:26):
before bed. Then more mushrooms, this time in chocolate specially
formulated for sleep from a lovely team behind Alice Mushrooms.
And some delicious essential oils to rub on your wrists
and neck from our friends at Woolsey's. And of course
(02:48):
some melatonin for those who need an extra helping hand
to rest by way of new strips. Place it on
your tongue and it dissolves in seconds. Like everything in
this village, we took our time to create this for you.
(03:08):
It's such a pleasure to be able to help so
many of you, to tuck you in at night and
to keep watched till the morning. And I'm excited to
help create comfort in new ways with our first ever
wind down Box. Head over to Nothing Much Happens dot
(03:30):
com for more information. Let me say a little about
how to use this podcast, and I have a story
to tell you, and the story is a soft landing
place for your mind. Whatever your day has been like.
(03:51):
It can end in soothing rest just by following along
with the sound of my voice and the simple shape
of our tale. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go
a little slower on the second telling. Let the details
you hear pull you into the world of the story
(04:14):
as if you are seeing and hearing and tasting what
it has to offer. If you wake again in the
middle of the night, turn your mind right back to
those details, and before you know it, you'll be waking
up tomorrow feeling refreshed. This is a simple but effective
(04:40):
form of brain training, and as the habit builds, you'll
notice that you drop off sooner and stay asleep longer.
Our story tonight is called a Dance in the Park,
and it's a story about coming back into the world
(05:01):
after a bit of time spent alone. It's also about
a glass of pink hibiscus tea window, shopping on a
downtown street, and moving to the music on a sunny day.
(05:22):
Now it's time to turn off the light and to
put away anything you've been playing with or looking at.
Take a moment to cozy your body down into your
preferred sleeping position, pull the comforter over your shoulder, and
(05:46):
let's take a deep breath in through the nose and
a soft sigh out of the mouth. Do that one
more time, breathe in and out. Good a dance in
(06:17):
the park. We were on the cusp of real summer weather.
And when I sat on the front porch this morning
and let the sunshine creep across the boards and onto
my toes, I noticed that it no longer felt filtered
(06:40):
and weak like it often does in the winter and
early spring. This was summer sunshine. It warmed you through
and brought out freckles, and felt when you lifted your
(07:00):
face to it with your eyes tightly shut, like food
and medicine and the missing element that is suddenly abundant
in your system. I sat until the whole porch was
lit up with morning light, and listened to the birds
(07:25):
calling and the street waking up. Neighbors waved from their driveways,
coffee cups in hand, stepping out to fetch the paper
or to peer thoughtfully down at sprouting gardens. Kids on
(07:45):
bikes and skateboards, already deep into the games and stories
of the day, rolled past me. I supposed it was
my turn to head out into the day. I stood
up and checked my pockets. I had house keys and
(08:11):
sunglasses and a few dollars everything I needed. One of
the lovely things about warm weather days is the ease
with which you can leave the house. After months of
layering on coats and scarves, thick socks and heavy boots,
(08:39):
and checking the weather report and shoveling the front walk,
it is a joy to step out in sandals and
shirt sleeves and be comfortable in the open air without
any planning at all. I locked the front door, hopped
(09:00):
down the steps into the grass. The sun warmed the
back of my neck as I started down the sidewalk.
I felt it on my forearms and calves and the
bridge of my nose. I read once that in some
(09:22):
ancient mythology, in some part of the world I'd forgotten where,
they believed that the heat of the sun was stored
in trees, and when you burned their wood, the fire
was just the sun being finally released back into the world.
(09:48):
I thought of this as the hot sun forced a
shiver down my spine. I must have stored the cold
from all the snow I had shoveled over, the all
the snow men i'd rolled into place, all the flakes
i'd caught on my tongue. Now that chill was wrung
(10:12):
from my body, and I felt a momentary wave of
goose bumps on my arm as it passed back into
the atmosphere. I hadn't paid much attention to where I
was walking, as it didn't much matter to me, But
turning a corner, I was happy to see I was
(10:34):
on the edge of downtown. I hadn't been to the
shops and cafes on these streets for a while, and
I'd missed them. There was a window full of pastries
and fruit tarts at the bakery. Beside the tarts was
(10:55):
a stack of fresh loaves, still dusted with flour. They'd
been scored just before they went into the oven, so
that their crusts showed a design of curling leaves or crisscrosses.
(11:15):
A few doors down in the window of a gift shop,
or a neat row of handmade soaps and jars of
salves and lotions, displays of bracelets and ear rings, and
hand drawn cards and pictures. I didn't need a thing,
(11:38):
but I liked looking the walk and the sun had
made me thirsty, and I remembered a little cafe in
the next street that made iced hibiscus tea, and I
strolled off toward it. The outdoor tap or full of
(12:01):
folks having a drink or a bite to eat, some
keeping company with friends, and others happily sitting with a
book in hand or a newspaper spread open on their lap.
I stepped inside and ordered my tea, deciding to take
(12:25):
it to go so I could keep walking. Behind the bar,
they had a tall glass urn with the bright pink
tea inside, along with the hibiscus flowers. It was brewed
with fresh strawberries and raspberries and knobbily branches of ginger.
(12:51):
A minute later I was standing back out in the
fresh air, taking a long drink of the tea, which
was and tart, tasting the flavor a bit like cranberries.
(13:11):
I sipped it as I made my way up one
street and down another. The flower baskets hanging from the
street lamps were full of petunias and geraniums and fuchsias.
I stopped to look at the posters in the window
(13:32):
of the record shop and made a few mental plans
for concerts and gigs I could see in the next
few weeks. On the lawn of the library. At the
edge of the park, kids were grouped around picnic tables
with a few grown up volunteers overseeing some craft project.
(13:59):
They darted back and forth between the tables, gathering up
supplies onto paper plates to make into collages. I could
hear their voices and laughter through the still air. As
I went further into the park. Everything was green, now thick,
(14:25):
fresh trimmed grass, shrubs and hedges, and layers of shiny
leaves overhead. As I came around the side of the lake,
I heard music playing. I followed it down a path
(14:48):
and into an open stone plaza where the farmer's market
was set up on Sunday Morningsuddenly the music was louder,
and a crowd of people danced to it. I remembered
(15:09):
seeing a poster by the library for a group class
salsa in the park, it had said. I smiled to
myself as I watched the faces of the dancers. They
were moving together, sometimes in couples and sometimes as groups,
(15:34):
some laughing and some quite serious, seeming to dance as
much with an engagingly lifted eyebrow as with their feet
as they stepped and turned and shifted a ring of
(15:54):
happy spectators stood watching, tapping their toes, clapping their hands
to the music. I settled onto a bench to watch now,
and then, catching the eye of a dancer or passer by,
(16:17):
we said to each other with our eyes, this is nice.
I'm glad to be here for it. I'd spent a
lot of time on my own lately, and that served
its own purpose. Solitude was fortifying for me. It gave
(16:42):
me space. I'm quiet and a steady center. But I'd
been like a gear turning all by itself in the house.
That gear rotated and kept my machinery going. But to day,
(17:07):
feeling the sun and waving at my neighbors, looking in
the store windows, and drinking tea in the open air,
and clapping along with the music while people danced, it
(17:28):
felt like my gear was sinking back up with everyone else's.
We powered each other, and that felt like rediscovering my
place among my fellows. I closed my eyes and listened
(17:49):
to the clapping hands. I lifted my face and let
the sun shine on it. I took a deep breath
in I let it out. A dance in the park.
(18:17):
We were on the cusp of real summer weather, and
when I sat on the front porch this morning and
let the sunshine creep across the boards and on to
my toes. I noticed that it no longer felt filtered
(18:41):
and weak, like it often does in the winter and
early spring. This was summer sunshine. It warmed you through
and brought out freckles, and felt when you lifted your
(19:06):
face to it with your eyes tightly shut, like food
and medicine and the missing element that was suddenly abundant
in your system. I sat until the whole porch was
(19:27):
lit up with morning light, and listened to the birds
calling on the street, waking up. Neighbors waved from their driveways,
coffee cups in hand, stepping out to fetch the paper,
(19:51):
or peer thoughtfully down its sprouting gardens. Kids on bikes
and scape boards, already deep into the games and stories
of the day, rolled past me. I supposed it was
(20:12):
my turn to head out into the day. I stood
up and checked my pockets. I had house keys and
sunglasses and a few dollars everything I needed. One of
(20:38):
the lovely things about warm weather days is the ease
with which you can leave the house after months of
layering on coats and scarves, thick socks, and heavy boots,
(21:01):
and checking the weather report and shoveling the front walk.
It is a joy to step out in sandals and
shirt sleeves and be comfortable in the open air without
any planning at all. I locked the front door and
(21:30):
hopped down the steps into the grass. The sun warmed
the back of my neck as I started down the sidewalk.
I felt it on my forearms and calves and the
(21:50):
bridge of my nose. I read once in some ancient mythology,
in some part of the world i'd forgotten where, they
believed that the heat of the sun was stored in trees,
(22:15):
and when you burned their wood, the fire was just
the sun being finally released back into the world. I
thought of this as the hot sun forced a shiver
down my spine. I must have stored the cold from
(22:43):
all the snow I had shoveled over the years, all
the snow man I'd rolled into place, all the flakes
I'd caught on my tongue. Now that chill was wrung
(23:03):
from my body, and I felt a momentary wave of
goose bumps on my arms as it passed back into
the atmosphere. I hadn't paid much attention to where I
was walking, as it didn't much matter to me, But
(23:29):
turning a corner, I was happy to see I was
on the edge of downtown. I hadn't been to the
shops and cafes on these streets for a while, and
I'd missed them. There was a window full of pastries
(23:52):
and fruit tarts at the bakery. Beside the tarts was
a staff of fresh loaves, still dusted with flour. They'd
been scored just before they went into the oven, so
that their crusts showed a design of curling leaves or
(24:17):
criss crosses. A few doors down, in the window of
a gift shop were a neat row of handmade soaps,
and jars of salves and lotions, displays of bracelets and earrings,
(24:42):
and hand drawn cards and pictures. I didn't need a thing,
but I liked looking the walk, and the sun had
made me thirsty. I remembered a little cafe in the
(25:05):
next street that made iced hibiscus tea, and I strolled
off toward it. The outdoor tables were full of folks
having a drink or a bite to eat, some keeping
(25:28):
company with friends, and others happily sitting with a book
in hand, or a newspaper spread open on their lap.
I stepped inside and ordered my tea. I decided to
(25:51):
take it to go so I could keep walking. Behind
the bar, they had a tall glass urn with the
bright pink tea inside, along with the hibiscus flowers. It
(26:11):
was brewed with fresh strawberries and raspberries and nobby branches
of ginger. A minute later I was standing back out
in the fresh air, taking a long drink of the tea,
(26:34):
which was cold and tart, tasting the flavor a bit
like cranberries. I sipped it as I made my way
up one street and down another. The flower baskets hanging
(26:56):
from the street lamps were full of petunias and geraniums
and fuchias. I stopped to look at the posters in
the window of the record shop and made a few
mental plans for concerts and gigs I could see in
(27:19):
the next few weeks. On the lawn of the library.
At the edge of the park, kids who were grouped
around picnic tables with a few grown up volunteers overseeing
(27:41):
some craft project. They darted back and forth between the tables,
gathering up supplies onto paper plates into collages I could
(28:06):
hear their voices and laughter through the still air. As
I went further into the park, everything was green, now, thick,
fresh trimmed grass, shrubs and hedges, and layers of shiny
(28:30):
leaves overhead. As I came around the side of the lake,
I heard music playing. I followed it down a path
and into an open stone plaza where the farmer's market
(28:55):
was set up on Sunday mornings. Suddenly the music was
louder when a crowd of people danced to it. I
remembered seeing a poster by the library for a group
(29:16):
class salsa in the park, it had said, I smiled
to myself as I watched the faces of the dancers.
They were moving together, sometimes in couples and sometimes as groups,
(29:44):
some laughing and some quite serious, seeming to dance as
much with an engagingly lifted eyebrow as with their feet.
They stepped and turned and shifted. A ring of happy
(30:09):
spectators stood watching, tapping their toes and clapping their hands
to the music. I settled on to a bench to
watch now, and then, catching the eye of a dancer
(30:30):
passer by, we said to each other with our eyes,
this is nice. I'm glad to be here for it.
I'd spent a lot of time on my own lately,
(30:51):
and that served its own purpose. Solitude was fortifying for me.
It gave me space and quiet and a steady center.
But I'd been like a gear turning all by itself
(31:15):
in the house. That gear rotated and kept my machinery going.
But today, feeling the sun and waving at my neighbors,
(31:36):
looking in the store windows, and drinking tea in the
open air, clapping along with the music while people danced,
it felt like my gear was sinking back up with
everyone else's powered each other, and that felt like rediscovering
(32:06):
my place among my fellows. I closed my eyes and
listened to the clapping hands. I lifted my face and
let the sun shine on it. I took a deep
(32:29):
breath in and let it out. Sweet dreams,
Welcome to Bedtime Stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens,
you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolay.
I read and write all the stories you hear on
(00:25):
Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. Today
marks six years of telling you bedtime stories, which has
become the most exciting gentle adventure of my life. And
(00:48):
it seems fitting that today I can share something I've
been working on for quite a while, something created just
for you to bring a piece of the village into
your homes and to guide you into healthy wind down
routines that will feel so good. This month, we are
(01:13):
releasing but Nothing Much Happens wind Down Box, a wellness
box of hand selected products that I personally use and
that I love, along with a few exclusive stories to
round out your cozy routines. Each box features products specially
(01:38):
selected for your relaxation, from Everescio Wellness's Chill Now, a
high potency organic certified Raschi mushroom extract to nutri Champs
tart cherry gummies great for sleep and reducing inflammation, and
they taste great. There's a lavender candle to mark your
(02:04):
moment of calm from our favorite small batch candle maker's
Vella box. A meditative activity for you by way of
a Brighter Year's mini coloring book, a fantastic way to
disconnect from your screen and tap into your creative self
(02:26):
before bed. Then more mushrooms, this time in chocolate specially
formulated for sleep from a lovely team behind Alice Mushrooms.
And some delicious essential oils to rub on your wrists
and neck from our friends at Woolsey's. And of course
(02:48):
some melatonin for those who need an extra helping hand
to rest by way of new strips. Place it on
your tongue and it dissolves in seconds. Like everything in
this village, we took our time to create this for you.
(03:08):
It's such a pleasure to be able to help so
many of you, to tuck you in at night and
to keep watched till the morning. And I'm excited to
help create comfort in new ways with our first ever
wind down Box. Head over to Nothing Much Happens dot
(03:30):
com for more information. Let me say a little about
how to use this podcast, and I have a story
to tell you, and the story is a soft landing
place for your mind. Whatever your day has been like.
(03:51):
It can end in soothing rest just by following along
with the sound of my voice and the simple shape
of our tale. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go
a little slower on the second telling. Let the details
you hear pull you into the world of the story
(04:14):
as if you are seeing and hearing and tasting what
it has to offer. If you wake again in the
middle of the night, turn your mind right back to
those details, and before you know it, you'll be waking
up tomorrow feeling refreshed. This is a simple but effective
(04:40):
form of brain training, and as the habit builds, you'll
notice that you drop off sooner and stay asleep longer.
Our story tonight is called a Dance in the Park,
and it's a story about coming back into the world
(05:01):
after a bit of time spent alone. It's also about
a glass of pink hibiscus tea window, shopping on a
downtown street, and moving to the music on a sunny day.
(05:22):
Now it's time to turn off the light and to
put away anything you've been playing with or looking at.
Take a moment to cozy your body down into your
preferred sleeping position, pull the comforter over your shoulder, and
(05:46):
let's take a deep breath in through the nose and
a soft sigh out of the mouth. Do that one
more time, breathe in and out. Good a dance in
(06:17):
the park. We were on the cusp of real summer weather.
And when I sat on the front porch this morning
and let the sunshine creep across the boards and onto
my toes, I noticed that it no longer felt filtered
(06:40):
and weak like it often does in the winter and
early spring. This was summer sunshine. It warmed you through
and brought out freckles, and felt when you lifted your
(07:00):
face to it with your eyes tightly shut, like food
and medicine and the missing element that is suddenly abundant
in your system. I sat until the whole porch was
lit up with morning light, and listened to the birds
(07:25):
calling and the street waking up. Neighbors waved from their driveways,
coffee cups in hand, stepping out to fetch the paper
or to peer thoughtfully down at sprouting gardens. Kids on
(07:45):
bikes and skateboards, already deep into the games and stories
of the day, rolled past me. I supposed it was
my turn to head out into the day. I stood
up and checked my pockets. I had house keys and
(08:11):
sunglasses and a few dollars everything I needed. One of
the lovely things about warm weather days is the ease
with which you can leave the house. After months of
layering on coats and scarves, thick socks and heavy boots,
(08:39):
and checking the weather report and shoveling the front walk,
it is a joy to step out in sandals and
shirt sleeves and be comfortable in the open air without
any planning at all. I locked the front door, hopped
(09:00):
down the steps into the grass. The sun warmed the
back of my neck as I started down the sidewalk.
I felt it on my forearms and calves and the
bridge of my nose. I read once that in some
(09:22):
ancient mythology, in some part of the world I'd forgotten where,
they believed that the heat of the sun was stored
in trees, and when you burned their wood, the fire
was just the sun being finally released back into the world.
(09:48):
I thought of this as the hot sun forced a
shiver down my spine. I must have stored the cold
from all the snow I had shoveled over, the all
the snow men i'd rolled into place, all the flakes
i'd caught on my tongue. Now that chill was wrung
(10:12):
from my body, and I felt a momentary wave of
goose bumps on my arm as it passed back into
the atmosphere. I hadn't paid much attention to where I
was walking, as it didn't much matter to me, But
turning a corner, I was happy to see I was
(10:34):
on the edge of downtown. I hadn't been to the
shops and cafes on these streets for a while, and
I'd missed them. There was a window full of pastries
and fruit tarts at the bakery. Beside the tarts was
(10:55):
a stack of fresh loaves, still dusted with flour. They'd
been scored just before they went into the oven, so
that their crusts showed a design of curling leaves or crisscrosses.
(11:15):
A few doors down in the window of a gift shop,
or a neat row of handmade soaps and jars of
salves and lotions, displays of bracelets and ear rings, and
hand drawn cards and pictures. I didn't need a thing,
(11:38):
but I liked looking the walk and the sun had
made me thirsty, and I remembered a little cafe in
the next street that made iced hibiscus tea, and I
strolled off toward it. The outdoor tap or full of
(12:01):
folks having a drink or a bite to eat, some
keeping company with friends, and others happily sitting with a
book in hand or a newspaper spread open on their lap.
I stepped inside and ordered my tea, deciding to take
(12:25):
it to go so I could keep walking. Behind the bar,
they had a tall glass urn with the bright pink
tea inside, along with the hibiscus flowers. It was brewed
with fresh strawberries and raspberries and knobbily branches of ginger.
(12:51):
A minute later I was standing back out in the
fresh air, taking a long drink of the tea, which
was and tart, tasting the flavor a bit like cranberries.
(13:11):
I sipped it as I made my way up one
street and down another. The flower baskets hanging from the
street lamps were full of petunias and geraniums and fuchsias.
I stopped to look at the posters in the window
(13:32):
of the record shop and made a few mental plans
for concerts and gigs I could see in the next
few weeks. On the lawn of the library. At the
edge of the park, kids were grouped around picnic tables
with a few grown up volunteers overseeing some craft project.
(13:59):
They darted back and forth between the tables, gathering up
supplies onto paper plates to make into collages. I could
hear their voices and laughter through the still air. As
I went further into the park. Everything was green, now thick,
(14:25):
fresh trimmed grass, shrubs and hedges, and layers of shiny
leaves overhead. As I came around the side of the lake,
I heard music playing. I followed it down a path
(14:48):
and into an open stone plaza where the farmer's market
was set up on Sunday Morningsuddenly the music was louder,
and a crowd of people danced to it. I remembered
(15:09):
seeing a poster by the library for a group class
salsa in the park, it had said. I smiled to
myself as I watched the faces of the dancers. They
were moving together, sometimes in couples and sometimes as groups,
(15:34):
some laughing and some quite serious, seeming to dance as
much with an engagingly lifted eyebrow as with their feet
as they stepped and turned and shifted a ring of
(15:54):
happy spectators stood watching, tapping their toes, clapping their hands
to the music. I settled onto a bench to watch now,
and then, catching the eye of a dancer or passer by,
(16:17):
we said to each other with our eyes, this is nice.
I'm glad to be here for it. I'd spent a
lot of time on my own lately, and that served
its own purpose. Solitude was fortifying for me. It gave
(16:42):
me space. I'm quiet and a steady center. But I'd
been like a gear turning all by itself in the house.
That gear rotated and kept my machinery going. But to day,
(17:07):
feeling the sun and waving at my neighbors, looking in
the store windows, and drinking tea in the open air,
and clapping along with the music while people danced, it
(17:28):
felt like my gear was sinking back up with everyone else's.
We powered each other, and that felt like rediscovering my
place among my fellows. I closed my eyes and listened
(17:49):
to the clapping hands. I lifted my face and let
the sun shine on it. I took a deep breath
in I let it out. A dance in the park.
(18:17):
We were on the cusp of real summer weather, and
when I sat on the front porch this morning and
let the sunshine creep across the boards and on to
my toes. I noticed that it no longer felt filtered
(18:41):
and weak, like it often does in the winter and
early spring. This was summer sunshine. It warmed you through
and brought out freckles, and felt when you lifted your
(19:06):
face to it with your eyes tightly shut, like food
and medicine and the missing element that was suddenly abundant
in your system. I sat until the whole porch was
(19:27):
lit up with morning light, and listened to the birds
calling on the street, waking up. Neighbors waved from their driveways,
coffee cups in hand, stepping out to fetch the paper,
(19:51):
or peer thoughtfully down its sprouting gardens. Kids on bikes
and scape boards, already deep into the games and stories
of the day, rolled past me. I supposed it was
(20:12):
my turn to head out into the day. I stood
up and checked my pockets. I had house keys and
sunglasses and a few dollars everything I needed. One of
(20:38):
the lovely things about warm weather days is the ease
with which you can leave the house after months of
layering on coats and scarves, thick socks, and heavy boots,
(21:01):
and checking the weather report and shoveling the front walk.
It is a joy to step out in sandals and
shirt sleeves and be comfortable in the open air without
any planning at all. I locked the front door and
(21:30):
hopped down the steps into the grass. The sun warmed
the back of my neck as I started down the sidewalk.
I felt it on my forearms and calves and the
(21:50):
bridge of my nose. I read once in some ancient mythology,
in some part of the world i'd forgotten where, they
believed that the heat of the sun was stored in trees,
(22:15):
and when you burned their wood, the fire was just
the sun being finally released back into the world. I
thought of this as the hot sun forced a shiver
down my spine. I must have stored the cold from
(22:43):
all the snow I had shoveled over the years, all
the snow man I'd rolled into place, all the flakes
I'd caught on my tongue. Now that chill was wrung
(23:03):
from my body, and I felt a momentary wave of
goose bumps on my arms as it passed back into
the atmosphere. I hadn't paid much attention to where I
was walking, as it didn't much matter to me, But
(23:29):
turning a corner, I was happy to see I was
on the edge of downtown. I hadn't been to the
shops and cafes on these streets for a while, and
I'd missed them. There was a window full of pastries
(23:52):
and fruit tarts at the bakery. Beside the tarts was
a staff of fresh loaves, still dusted with flour. They'd
been scored just before they went into the oven, so
that their crusts showed a design of curling leaves or
(24:17):
criss crosses. A few doors down, in the window of
a gift shop were a neat row of handmade soaps,
and jars of salves and lotions, displays of bracelets and earrings,
(24:42):
and hand drawn cards and pictures. I didn't need a thing,
but I liked looking the walk, and the sun had
made me thirsty. I remembered a little cafe in the
(25:05):
next street that made iced hibiscus tea, and I strolled
off toward it. The outdoor tables were full of folks
having a drink or a bite to eat, some keeping
(25:28):
company with friends, and others happily sitting with a book
in hand, or a newspaper spread open on their lap.
I stepped inside and ordered my tea. I decided to
(25:51):
take it to go so I could keep walking. Behind
the bar, they had a tall glass urn with the
bright pink tea inside, along with the hibiscus flowers. It
(26:11):
was brewed with fresh strawberries and raspberries and nobby branches
of ginger. A minute later I was standing back out
in the fresh air, taking a long drink of the tea,
(26:34):
which was cold and tart, tasting the flavor a bit
like cranberries. I sipped it as I made my way
up one street and down another. The flower baskets hanging
(26:56):
from the street lamps were full of petunias and geraniums
and fuchias. I stopped to look at the posters in
the window of the record shop and made a few
mental plans for concerts and gigs I could see in
(27:19):
the next few weeks. On the lawn of the library.
At the edge of the park, kids who were grouped
around picnic tables with a few grown up volunteers overseeing
(27:41):
some craft project. They darted back and forth between the tables,
gathering up supplies onto paper plates into collages I could
(28:06):
hear their voices and laughter through the still air. As
I went further into the park, everything was green, now, thick,
fresh trimmed grass, shrubs and hedges, and layers of shiny
(28:30):
leaves overhead. As I came around the side of the lake,
I heard music playing. I followed it down a path
and into an open stone plaza where the farmer's market
(28:55):
was set up on Sunday mornings. Suddenly the music was
louder when a crowd of people danced to it. I
remembered seeing a poster by the library for a group
(29:16):
class salsa in the park, it had said, I smiled
to myself as I watched the faces of the dancers.
They were moving together, sometimes in couples and sometimes as groups,
(29:44):
some laughing and some quite serious, seeming to dance as
much with an engagingly lifted eyebrow as with their feet.
They stepped and turned and shifted. A ring of happy
(30:09):
spectators stood watching, tapping their toes and clapping their hands
to the music. I settled on to a bench to
watch now, and then, catching the eye of a dancer
(30:30):
passer by, we said to each other with our eyes,
this is nice. I'm glad to be here for it.
I'd spent a lot of time on my own lately,
(30:51):
and that served its own purpose. Solitude was fortifying for me.
It gave me space and quiet and a steady center.
But I'd been like a gear turning all by itself
(31:15):
in the house. That gear rotated and kept my machinery going.
But today, feeling the sun and waving at my neighbors,
(31:36):
looking in the store windows, and drinking tea in the
open air, clapping along with the music while people danced,
it felt like my gear was sinking back up with
everyone else's powered each other, and that felt like rediscovering
(32:06):
my place among my fellows. I closed my eyes and
listened to the clapping hands. I lifted my face and
let the sun shine on it. I took a deep
(32:29):
breath in and let it out. Sweet dreams,
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