Under the canopy, time slowed down. If only for a slice of a part of a morning, time slowed. There was coffee and pastry. There was conversation and laughter. There was an eighty-something, a twenty-something...and the fifty-somethings that fit in between. Family.
Under the canopy, the air was clear. Around and between them. A crisp breeze carried memories and wishes. Glimpses of my childhood. Of my daughter's childhood. It brought with it hopes of many more visits to this place.
Under the canopy, the familiar voices of loved ones mingled with the birds' symphony. The song birds carried the melody and the woodpecker provided the percussion. Our words contributed perfect harmony.
Under the canopy, I was wholly in the moment. There was nothing else but that time and place for that slice of a part of a morning. I looked up at the layers of trees above, and was held there, cocooned there, under their magic spell. The light danced with the greens and yellows. It was at it has always been.
Under that canopy are my roots. And I am home.
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