I listened mainly to Vivaldi and Bach today on my 30 minute trip to buy _____. I took the medium-long way so that I could get there quickly but still scan the countryside for signs of Springtime. It was a gray, dense, chilly, Moonlight Sonata kind of morning. I drove my battered van through the sparse traffic without incident. As I often do in times of leisure I pondered my favorite subject, my failure of a life and what a complete loser I am. I decided, once again, that my lack of success was attributable to a deeply flawed character, and wondered for the umpteenth time which flaw, exactly, was the one causing all the trouble.
I saw other drivers, and some pedestrians, who all seemed more content than I was. As the pedestrians thinned out and I got in-between the population centers, I began to notice small details about them; a nametag on a shirt, a worn duffle bag. Some of them were clearly on their way to work, on a chilly drizzly morning like this, miles from anything, on foot. I wondered, as I have before, what their stories were. Were they secret geniuses, torn down by a society in which the only true law was conformity? Were they a loosely-allied sect of people who spurned all creature comforts, like updated versions of the professional hobo of yore? Or were they just idiots?
On the way back, having had the _____, I saw a bird flying across the road in front of me as I heard those superlight superhigh strings in Vivaldi's Spring. Although I was no longer thinking about my own failures, I began to be dissapointed in the failure of this day to meet even my lowest expectations. I had seen a few daffodils but they failed to cheer me. Their pale yellow was too insubstantial after all the grey grey black brown and grey. I needed color. It was then that I noticed how exceptionally green all the grass was looking. It was like a lush carpet under the steely grey dome of the sky and it spread all around me as far as I could see. Then on the road, about half a mile ahead of me, I saw a patch of sunlight. The cars in front of me were each brilliant for a few seconds as they drove through it. I waited for it to disappear but it didn't and then it was my turn. The sun lit the interior of the van in glorious golden light and warmed me through to my very heart. Here, for just a moment, was the day I'd been looking for.
As I approached my house, armed with a new resolve, I made plans for my garden. I've decided to do some vegetables this year; tomatos, squash, radishes and pumpkins. I'm sure it will lead to a series of entertaining misadventures (sorry Lemony Snickett). At an intersection, I saw a few more people out and on foot, without the benefit of my stolen moment of sunshine. I decided that no matter what their stories were, they were probably just fine. They were probably just out buying _____.
