pure moments

The view from my office window is of a dirty west-end alleyway, an unimpressive brick wall the colour of cold oatmeal, and the swirling early-February snow that I've been culminating a gentle hatred for since adolescence, when I stopped revelling in the joys of outdoor play. If I crane my neck, I can see cars in the parking lot next door.

Last night during yoga, as I lay flat on my back and tried to focus on relaxing the root of my tongue, the wings of my nose and the channels of my inner ears, I tried also to go to my happy place. At first I was thinking of a calm blue ocean, the gentle rolling of waves on a warm, white beach. Then I was thinking of the vast, bottomless blue Alberta skies and what they look like from that very same yoga position: savasana, lying relaxed on your back with your feet flopped outwards and your arms loose at your sides. And then, while the instructor told us to live wholly in this one moment, to allow the past and future to stretch behind and in front of us out of sight, I thought of the only other time in my life that I can truly just be exactly where I am without a thought of any other time in my life.

I thought about riding across open fields with friends, the exhilarating whistle of the wind past my ears. Warm sun that freckles my shoulders and darkens my cheekbones. And I wasn't in the room in the yoga studio, like I was supposed to be, I wasn't in that moment, but in another pure time in my life that has happened and can happen again.

I just wish it could happen today.