Permission to Be

All Rapunzel's mother desired

Was a taste of rampion

While all I crave is a perfect blackberry

I'm willing to earn it

Winning its sweet flavor

By tiptoeing, reaching past brambles

Waiting for the witch to startle me

And ask for my firstborn

An agreement to which 

(if the flavor be sweet)

I just might succumb.

I gave myself permission to lose track of time today. Nowhere I needed to go or be. Nothing I needed to do. I meandered to the lake - stopped and told an older Indian couple how much I admired their flowers and was invited further into their sanctuary to smell the fragrant jasmine. Heavenly.

Swam for unknown numbers of laps and emerged in a contented daze, following the sound of bagpipes wafting to the water from the path and continuing on to a park bench where I observed the myriad walkers, runners, bladers and bikers.

Stopped numerous times on the way home - to rub rosemary or lavender in the palm of my hand. To capture a thought with pen and paper. To pick a perfectly sweet berry. Or to sketch the buildings of Tangletown.

A tiny part of me remained conscious of tomorrow's return to ordinary time - but not enough to ignore the succulent hours ahead. When I returned home, 2.5 hours had passed in an infinite instant.