Lovely Sunday
Today was another amazing Sunday. Just like last week, it didn't start out too great - I was planning on going to a MARFU fowards camp (bonus rugby practice, essentially), but I crammed a bit too much into my Saturday. It turns out, a Saturday of rugby and a five-hour social and then heading back out for another hour or two of bar fun (even though I stuck to orange juice for Round 2), does not prepare oneself very well for getting up early on Sunday to run and scrum, and instead I ignored my alarm and slept until noon.
But then I biked down to the Mall, and this week, the cherry blossoms had exploded from their buds into pink and white fluffy blazes of flowers. If trees could catch on fire, except with clouds instead of flames, that's what cherry blossom trees would look like. I locked my bike on the rack next to the field we played on yesterday, then went for a nice long wander all the way around the Tidal Basin.
All the walkways were packed with tourists, so I people-watched as much as I blossom-watched. The weather was 70+ and sunny, with a stiff breeze and giant puffy clouds that hinted of rain to come, but for the moment just added to the scenary. I found a little culvert park I've never seen before, dedicated to George Mason, and spent almost an hour lying on a bench in the sun re-reading The Passion while occasional gusts of wind rained petals into the quiet fountain.
Finally, I came all the way around back to the beginning. The sunshine and the wind and the fresh air made me starving for something light and fresh - something more than the heavy carbs and proteins I normally eat - so I stopped at Eastern Market on the way home and bought fresh mozzarella and tomatoes. As I walked through the market, I ran my fingers over cool glass beads and smooth stone necklaces.
My mother once told me that she thought everyone should take time, once a week, to feel a part of something bigger than yourself. Sundays are a good day for that: my family used to go to church together, but now my parents take long bike rides over hills and forested roads.
These past few Sundays, I've been immersing myself in my city. I'm just a small, scruffy girl, but I'm a part of this beautiful place of white marble and grassy patches worn to mud and grid pattern streets confused with dead ends and diagonals. I'm a part of the cherry blossoms and the breeze and the tourists and the traffic. It's soothing and calming to know: I'm a part of something bigger than just myself.
But then I biked down to the Mall, and this week, the cherry blossoms had exploded from their buds into pink and white fluffy blazes of flowers. If trees could catch on fire, except with clouds instead of flames, that's what cherry blossom trees would look like. I locked my bike on the rack next to the field we played on yesterday, then went for a nice long wander all the way around the Tidal Basin.
All the walkways were packed with tourists, so I people-watched as much as I blossom-watched. The weather was 70+ and sunny, with a stiff breeze and giant puffy clouds that hinted of rain to come, but for the moment just added to the scenary. I found a little culvert park I've never seen before, dedicated to George Mason, and spent almost an hour lying on a bench in the sun re-reading The Passion while occasional gusts of wind rained petals into the quiet fountain.
Finally, I came all the way around back to the beginning. The sunshine and the wind and the fresh air made me starving for something light and fresh - something more than the heavy carbs and proteins I normally eat - so I stopped at Eastern Market on the way home and bought fresh mozzarella and tomatoes. As I walked through the market, I ran my fingers over cool glass beads and smooth stone necklaces.
My mother once told me that she thought everyone should take time, once a week, to feel a part of something bigger than yourself. Sundays are a good day for that: my family used to go to church together, but now my parents take long bike rides over hills and forested roads.
These past few Sundays, I've been immersing myself in my city. I'm just a small, scruffy girl, but I'm a part of this beautiful place of white marble and grassy patches worn to mud and grid pattern streets confused with dead ends and diagonals. I'm a part of the cherry blossoms and the breeze and the tourists and the traffic. It's soothing and calming to know: I'm a part of something bigger than just myself.