We strolled down a worn alley that we had passed countless times but had never ventured; a small garden of vegetables and sunflowers to our right, and the glow of the setting sun in front of us. On top of rocks at the waters edge we find a collection of quaint waterfront homes hidden from the bustle of 1st street. Over the vine covered concrete wall of one of the homes comes the sweet tunes of classic summer music.
My two best friends and I quickly took stance, perching on rocks and dancing (if you can call the spastic flailing of limbs “dancing”) to the music all in unison without a single word exchanged between us. Suddenly, we were no longer in the word of the bustling 1st street’s 3rd of July parade , rather we were the only three people for miles (or at least for the few yards it took to get to the neighboring home’s fence), it was as if the stroll down the alley had transported us to a whole other world. Our only care in the world became whether or not our incessant laughter would cause us to pee our pants.
We were in a story book- orange glowing skies, blue bay waters, rolling hills, and intoxicating music that danced through sweet summer air- time transfixed.
Some may think that after living in the same 15 mi² town for 17 years there would be nothing new left to discover. However, I think that the world can work in magical ways, saving new treasures and experiences for us to find along the way, saving some sweetness for the future, setting pace to the unexpected sparks that flare amongst the mundane.