It is a stunning spring day. The sun is shining, the sky is brilliantly blue and there is a warm, fragrant breeze drifting into my bedroom through the sliding door off of the deck. So tempting. I want to put on my workout clothes, grab my dog Riley and head to Mount Tamalpais for a vigorous hike. I’ll pack a lunch, throw a book into my backpack and read under sun-dappled trees on the banks of Phoenix Lake. I will be out for hours and hours and hours. I won’t come home until after sunset. Or maybe I’ll never come home. I’ll live in the woods like a nymph, bathing in the lakes, eating nuts and berries, drinking from mountain springs, hiding in the trees and sleeping under the stars.

I want to be anywhere but here. In bed.

My chest tightens, and my eyes start to burn.

What to do?

I close my eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths. When I open them again I look out at the view. I am blessed to be able to see the hills of Tiburon and San Francisco Bay from where I sit. I observe silently. I can hear sparrows singing in the branches of our beautiful oak tree. Distant traffic on Highway 101. A motorcycle. Someone mowing their lawn. I notice that our Japanese maple is blooming again. I see an airplane fly over the bay. A balloon from a child’s party rises up from a nearby park, weaving and bobbing along a wind current. It is super sized and dark purple. I watch it until it disappears into the sky.

I crawl out of bed and onto the deck. I settle myself on a lounge chair and close my eyes again. Neon red everywhere. The sun beats down. Warm, warm, warm. Breathe. My chest starts to loosen. My body aches fade. Riley dozes beside me.

Here is nice too.