Blissfulness

I was just sitting in my room when Mom whipped open the door. “What”” I asked.

“You’ve had WAY too much screen time today,” she replied, reaching for my phone. I swerved my hand away involuntarily. Mom sighed.

“Give me the phone, Bliss.” She held out her hand and paused for me to drop it. Reluctantly, I handed it over. It felt weird not to be holding it. Like my hand was detached or something.

“Go outside. Get some fresh air.” Mom slid the device into her pocket. “It’ll be good for you.”

Who needs fresh air when you have an air conditioner and the internet? I slumped out the back door and into the yard.

“See?” Mom said, closing the door behind me.” All the entertainment you could ever need.”

Yeah, right. Squinting in the sunlight, I sat down in the shade of a big oak tree. It was mostly hot, except when the breeze blew by. Like a whistle, but carrying a tune without a melody. It was kind of peaceful out here. We lived out in the country, so our house stood alone. The leaves rustled quietly, some swooping down in the wind. I could hear robins chirping in the distance, singing ballads of joy.

By my side, the brook babbled, rushing past me. I put my hand                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 into the clear, cold water. And somehow, in the midst of all that was happening, I found myself talking. Not to myself, not to anyone in particular. Just saying things out loud as if I had an audience. It all spoiled out of me. I told the truth about everything in my life, waiting for the water to ripple in response, as if it could hear me.

“Who are you talking to?” I looked over to see Mom on the front steps. She blinked.

“No one,” I answered quickly.

“I was just wondering.” She glanced at me. “You’ve been out here for over an hour.” Really? It felt more like ten minutes. Maybe I could stay a little longer, in the shade of the tree and the serenity of nature.