The Transition Artist

I stepped outside and the goosebumps began. I shuffled back and forth a little, jumped a few times and rubbed my arms, ready to begin. The sun barely peeked over the top of the apartment building beside me, and the clouds gathered, wispy and gray overhead. I started running.

I ran down my street, rounding the corner and hitting the dirt path, covered in a layer of tiny pebbles and decaying yellow and brown leaves. I started to warm up, and so did the air as the sun began breaking through the clouds. I headed towards the park, feeling at once tied to the city, yet longing to break away. The homeless man I pass on the bench every day wasn’t there. I hoped he was warm, tucked away somewhere safe from the wet morning cold. I ran on.

I made the green light, quickly crossed the street, and hit the park, smiling a little as I neared the lake. The sunlight, awake and lively, glinted off the water, making the day seem a little brighter as it came to life. I watched the geese that recently migrated down to join the ducks and the swans clean themselves and duck into the water in search of their breakfast. A tiny dog with a funny haircut trotted along next to me, temporarily separated from its owner. It looked at me curiously, but didn’t bark; the city dogs hardly ever do.

A gentle glaze of sweat started forming over my skin, and I hit pause on my music to listen to the sounds of the starting day. It was different there. The leaves rustled, other runners made crunching sounds as they trotted along, birds sang, and even the quiet had a sound. Everything was moving, but it was still. I ran, but time froze. I could hear the cars on the road in the distance, but they felt far away. In that moment, all I could feel was my breathing, and all that mattered was the sunshine.

The sun has become a little more rare lately, as each day shortens by four minutes, and the gray of autumn sneaks its way back into Paris. I savored each step of sunshine like the last bite of ice cream. I detached from the city and the rush of my daily schedule. I healed a little, and I stopped worrying about whether or not I should make any attempt to smile at the other runners. Instead I closed my eyes and smiled at no one in particular.

As I rounded the last corner, I headed out of the park and back towards my apartment. The sounds of the city returned. I turned up my music as I crossed under a bridge and gasped as I emerged on the other side and the sun blasted its way through the trees. Everything was golden and warm. The colors of the trees radiated. I radiated.

I realized that, however fleeting, I was charged by the sunshine.

There are tiny gifts inside of each day, and this was mine. I returned home and hurriedly got ready for class, going about my Tuesday routine. By the time I left my apartment again to head to the metro the sunshine was gone, replaced by the gray, ominous clouds that have become so common. I smiled, remembering my gift. I was full, and not a single cloud, drop of rain, or missed train could take that away.

On I went.