The sky is that shade of blue that only shows up on days like these. It might not really be any bluer, but it looks perfect against pure white clouds that alternate between puffy and wispy. But everything looks better through aviator shades.
A plane might make its way, lazily, across the sky. There might be seagulls crying, cardinals singing. The tree trunks are dark in shadow, the leaves green and shot through with bright rays of sunshine. If the sun were a child's drawing, it would be wearing sunglasses. And grinning.
People are suddenly everywhere - jogging, walking, talking, biking, taking dogs for long walks, pushing infants in strollers. They've been stuck in hibernation, but no one can miss a beautiful day. Errands are excuses to get out in the sun; sitting in the backyard is a higher priority than eating, even breathing. The sun is hot, but the breeze cuts the warmth, clearing away humidity and leaving in its place the peaceful flutter of anxious new leaves and the sound of life, renewed, and so very alive.
What a beautiful day, you think. And it sounds cliché, but don't listen to that writing professor. Clichés just have a bad reputation. Sometimes, there's just no better way to say it. And what a beautiful day this is.
I love the smell of gas. I can't even describe it now, even as I imagine the fumes; it's one-of-a-kind, indescribable. This doesn't mean I like to huff it to get high. I'm high off of life, footloose and fancy-free. I just like the oddly comforting smell of gasoline.
It reminds me of sitting in the passenger seat and making faces at Dad as he fills the tank. It reminds me of the first time I had to get gas, and it took three of us to figure out how to get the cap off. It reminds me of the freedom to use my own money to go wherever the hell I want in my own car.
When the windows are down, something great pops up on the radio, and you're on the highway, you don't ever want to stop driving. It will make you wish your to-do list was longer, just to listen to this song forever and go speeding through the world at seventy. Why not just keep driving forever? Why not an impromptu roadtrip? Why not just blow past your exit, and keep going?
Someday. Someday soon.