Wheel in the Lemonade

A few months back, I was driving with a good friend of mine in search of new frames for his glasses. We had a nice rove around the southern half of the city stopping first at Costco, but when that destination proved futile in the way of attractive frames, ventured deeper into the unknown.

One thing that you should probably understand is that no matter when I am driving with this guy, he seems to infuse the air around him with energy and optimism. I can’t help but smile while sitting in the front seat, the wind blowing through my hair as we listen to music that generally provides a pathway to reminisce about my childhood. On this particular day, while we were driving, he chipped in a piece of information that made me both think and giggle at the same time. If he could give his life a theme song, he would have it be ‘Strawberry Swing’ by Coldplay.

I giggled because it is so true– his whole mindset seems to be reflected so incredibly well in that one song. Both the lyrics as well as the melody seem to etch into his being seemingly defining some majorly noticable aspects of his life. But I was thinking particularly because of the interest he had taken in finding a so called ‘Soundtrack of His Life’; if anyone would compile a list of songs that hilighted the major characteristics he portrayed, it would be him.

So I was driving to work this morning aroud ten after eight, and let me just say that summer is by far my favorite month: everything about the colour and the temperature and the very feel of the season is seeped in beauty and calm. As I pulled out of my neighbourhood and onto the twisting road that led to the highway, Strawberry Swing came to my playlist and started to sing over my speakers. I just had to– I had to open my window to the 20 degree air.

If someone was filming my drive just then, I doubt any song would have been able to fit more perfectly.

The green, rolling hills have always held a place of importance as it reminds me so vividly of England and the remarkably beautiful terrain that the English inhabit. As I pulled to the top of a hill that would lead me down the winding road, I was granted a phenomenally beautiful portrait of the rolling green of the hills, dotted with farmhouses in the background, the deep ocean blue of the sky lightly smeared with cottony clouds– the nostalgia alone was enough to send shivers down my spine but as I continued driving, I was made aware of more and more tidbits of scenery that flung themselves out at me. The mountains stood out starkly against the blue of the sky and where the sun kissed their peaks, they were wreathed in gold, shadows dipping into the contours of their rocky faces. I rolled down the hill, trees arching gracefully over the road flinging dappled light onto the hood of my car and over my bare arm that was swinging out the window.

The warm summer air swept into the window, sifting through my curls and lancing across my eyelashes, tickling my lids. I took a slight turn, following the map of the street and perched on two telephone wires were two birds, each having their own place on a line, one above the other.

I took another turn and the wind was trickling through the trees, causing the aspens to whisper and shimmer as I drove past.

The road was straight and I momentarily closed my eyes. This is what it means to be alive.

Strawberry Swing