I’m lying here beneath the leaves of a vast oak tree thinking about the rare perfection of days like these. The clusters of clouds seem to have escaped from the fog with in my mind revealing the rays of a city’s sun. I can feel the oxygen seeping out of the leaves directly above me masking the smells of the big apple. I feel nothing but peace right now. The wind brushes strands of hair into my eyes and I brush them away cutting my fingers through the warm breeze. How funny this feeling is. I don’t remember the last time I was able to be so in touch with my senses. How careless I’ve been with being mindful of the treasures in my daily life since I stopped writing. Perhaps it’s time to start again.