It’s what I call my perfect days.
not the kind of days where every-thing goes right.
The kind of days where all that happens falls together like pieces
of a nonsensical puzzle.
Like a sunny day in LA, on our way to the Griffith Observatory. J and his parents wanted to stop by an outdoor cafe and drink tea and eat a warm slice of apple pie.
So we did.
I ran my fingers over the cold damp roots of the succulents set on our table, and sipping my chai slowly.
J was driving.
He carefully wound the car up the hill to the observatory.
We wandered around the observatory in silence, waiting for the planetarium show.
J whispered a hasty explanation of the Tesla coil to me with just a hint of annoyance.
The planetarium show came. We set ourselves near the center and I eagerly called out answers to the hosts questions, not being deterred by the handful of children he was actually querying.
When it ended we exited to the east, stepping out of the dark theater just as the sun was dripping its way down past the horizon.
J took me by the hand and led me back to the car, his parents not far behind us.
No one said anything.
We just enjoyed the silence.
J and I dropped his parents back at our temporary home (his sisters house).
We ventured into night-time LA– eating dinner at Moby’s restaurant, and having a cocktail and dessert in tarped alleyway with the wind roaring loudly around us.
It wasn’t the explosive vacation that people write Instagram stories about, but it was the coziest travel experience I’ve had in years.
When you are eating pie in the sky, with your head in the clouds and your feet too far off the ground to be frightened…you enjoy every sweet bite.