There are Sundays that go by unnoticed, spent in bed ordering takeout from bed. There are Sundays that are transcendent, however, and this past Sunday was one of them.
Mag in her spontaneous nature signed up for a half marathon out of the blue the week prior. It’s in three weeks. She spent her morning running Prospect Park. I spent mine reading and crocheting. Our separate mornings were respectively restorative.
I wanted to go to Sunset Park. She frowned at that. “We never try,” I whined not wanting to take the train to another green space. So we gave our park a chance. We packed my big red blanket, journals, books and pretzels to walk the two blocks up to our own elevated escape.
Couples lounged on the hillside. A mustached man in a newsboy cap ran up and down the slope. A hoard of kids kicked a soccer ball around us.
“There's something right and wonderful in seeing all the diverse kids playing together,” Mag said lifting her head from her journal.
The sun was beating down warming the cool air. Taking it all in, you could see Manhattan spectacularly to the left of our view and the expansive water to the right.
I collected a few more freckles, finished a book and reflected with Mag on our mere four months here. We are now settled and at home. There’s a vast comfort in coming back to a place all our own. There’s a reality faced with the change in seasons. We really aren’t leaving with the end of summer. And I feel so content in it all.