We’ve had a cool and rainy summer here on the east coast of Canada. As a result, I haven’t spent nearly as much time outdoors as I usually do this time of year – aside from when I’m running, of course. And it’s a shame because there’s something truly magical about warm summer days.
For example, last week was a little frantic because I was “acting” for my boss who was on vacation while preparing to go on two weeks’ vacation myself. One especially harried day, in dire need of sustenance, I slipped out to pick up a sandwich. Emerging from the sandwich shop still distracted by thoughts of work, I was abruptly struck by the fact that the day, which had started out cool and foggy, had become an idyllic summer day – warm and sunny with just enough breeze to make it comfortable. Though intending to head straight back to the office, I allowed myself to be drawn to the square in front of City Hall by the sounds of a quartet playing a noontime concert and plopped myself down in a shady spot to eat. The quartet, a talented group of young jazz musicians, played a selection of its own autobiographically, often hilariously titled compositions. The concert was enjoyable enough, but the magical part was watching a group of three and four year old children dancing – their tiny bodies moving in effortless interpretation of music that was – to my ear at least – almost entirely without rhythm, their faces earnest as they turned occasionally to watch the players.