The Chair by the River

There are no windows where I work. There is no weather, no sun, no shrubbery, no indication of time or season. This building used to be a bowling alley—the lanes are still here behind my desk, marked with caution tape lines where the floor is uneven and covered with industrial carpet. I sit in one of many cubicles sprawled across one large room.

There is no sense of the outside world.

One of the pleasures I enjoyed when I first started working here was to go outside during my breaks, and during lunch and walk by the river or to the park. We're right by a trail on the Provo River, so I would sit by the river to eat. Off the path at one point, you could climb down the rocks, and by a tree there was a folding camp chair with writing on the back. It said something like, “Please don't take this chair. It's for everyone. Sit and rest your feet, and share the pleasure.” Something like that. And a pregnant woman had written on it too saying she was so grateful for the chair—she found it on a day when she really needed to rest her feet, just like it says. What a simple pleasure. One of those little things.

Today was the first day I've gone outside to walk on the path since winter “happened,” and I went to look for the chair by the river, but it wasn't there—or at least it wasn't where I thought it was. It was a little blue thing in my day. One of those little things.

There are little things that make your day, and there are little blue things that also make your day . . . a little blue. Like the other day, I realized that recently, when I park my car, I go to turn my lights off, even if they aren't on. You know why? Because since winter “happened,” I left for work in the dark, and I came home when in the dark, and in between I never saw daylight from my window-less workspace. That's a little blue thing.

I am so happy for spring to come. Just when I get used to the winter blues, spring surprises me. It's the best present every year—I look forward to it until I forget that spring even exists, and that's why it always surprises me. Winter never lasts forever.