Of freedom

A couple days ago I did something I haven't done in forever: I got on my hands and knees and picked every dandelion I could see. I had twenty minutes before work-- too little time for any real studying or a nap, but just enough to head outside and lick up the sky and clouds. The sun was gorgeous, the grass perfectly dotted with yellow. Days like that make me feel invincible, as if I could handle anything (although the creaking of my swing and the soft wind assured me that nothing could ever go wrong again). But days like that are deceiving, and it seems like you can count on something unprecedentedly bad happening the next day, and the next. Gorgeous fragments of cloud and light are just temporary respites to encourage us betweentimes, and though I appreciate them, I can't help wishing they were more substantial.