I'm sitting outside, in my parents backyard in Los Angeles. As the temperature nears 80 degrees, I relax in the shade and listen to flamenco music. I contemplate getting up from my chair to get something cold from the fridge but I'm far too comfortable. I realize that if someone were to ask me that cliche question, about what my "happy place" was, it would be this; right here, right now.
I look past my parents lawn at the massive magnolia tree that grows on their hill and frames the blue sky with its large, green leaves- if they could only talk. How many times had they watched a younger me play underneath them? Fall asleep in their shade? I wonder if they would have cried out when I nailed wooden planks into the trunk as I built a tree fort, or if they would have smiled all those years ago when I stole a kiss from that girl who laughed afterward. I was certainly happy those leaves couldn't call out to my mother when I pretended I was studying under them but secretly had a book hidden inside my homework folder; although the more I think about it the more I suspect she knew all along.
It's impossible not to smile as I reminisce and relax. Maybe I will grab something from the fridge, or maybe I'll just fall asleep for a while...