I cut through the parking lot to another parking lot, then cut through there to climb over a tiny hill into a subdivision. I stroll through the subdivision, my hands in my pockets, looking at people's landscaping and strangely adjoined backyards.
I come to a dead end with some trees behind it. I walk towards the trees, wishing I could walk through them. It occurs to me that surely other people have felt this way too, and there may be a path tramped through the tangled vegetation. Sure enough, there is. Somebody has even thoughtfully put down some woodchips to keep it path-like.
I walk through the trees, and it is peaceful. There are birds and leaves and things. This isn't a forest or anything, just a small clump of undeveloped nature, but it is still nice. On the other side of the clump is another tiny hill to climb.
I crest the hill, and not too far away is the freeway that the hill was trying to mask. But before the freeway there is a field with about a million dandelions. I am delighted by the secret golden treasure. Even though there is a building and parking lot to my right, and a freeway in sight, and a subdivision behind me -- there is still an empty field of sunshine and dandelions in front of me, and a clump of uncultivated woodsy area behind me.
I find a tuft of grass on the hill, and sit for awhile. The birds sing and rustle behind me, and the field is yellow in front of me. The cars on the freeway fade to white noise, and all I can heard are birds and wind and leaves. I sit quietly with my arms circling my knees, enjoying the peaceful moment, a treasure for only me.
After awhile, I notice in the distance a Marriot, a hotel I was in not too long ago. I remember standing inside looking at my office from the window, and I wonder if anybody can see my golden field from there. "Probably not," I decide. They can see the field but not the flowers.
I notice that the parking lot to my right is filled with little cultivated islands of grass, each with two small flowering trees. It amuses be because the lot where I am is far away from the building and nearly empty. They have put a lot of work into taking care of those tiny islands of tree-pairs for an parking lot.
The sunshine feels good, and I feel comfortable even without a jacket. The breeze is just right, a little cool but complemented by the warm sun. My mind wanders, and I wonder what the temperature is. I have recently become mildly obsessed with knowing the temperature where I am. I mull over the idea of a portable temperature gauge, which will tell me the temp wherever I am. It would be handy to have strapped to my wrist, with my watch, so it would always be with me. But then my body temperature would affect its sensor. Then I picture a removable wireless sensor. With amusement, I imagine tossing the sensor into the grass in front of me then checking my watch to see the temperature.
I rest my chin on my shoulder, gazing off to the right. I am mildly surprised at how comfortable my shoulder is; with my arms stretched forward around my knees, my shoulder muscle is relaxed and pillowy. I wonder vaguely if I could fall asleep in such a position, then realize that even with the relaxed shoulders, too many of my muscles are gently tensed to hold me upright, more than would allow for sleep.
Eventually I decide it is time to return. I have sat for awhile -- I get up and shake out my stiffened muscles. Walking back through the woods, I head a twig-crackling rustle of something running away. "I hope that's a bunny," the random through goes through my mind.
I cut through a backyard, and feel mildly guilty about trespassing. But they are likely to be at work, and I convince myself that they should be pleased that somebody is enjoying their manicured lawn while they are not.
I walk back through the hills, trees, subdivision, and parking lot. I remember that I haven't eaten today, so it is time to head back to the office for tuna fish. I am sorry to end my peaceful and solitary moments. I wonder if I hate my job.