The CD shop was too brightly lit, but she wanted to stay. To listen. To sink into the plush sound of the CD on the speakers. As she perused the racks she could feel his eyes on her, peering through the lush green swampland of Louisiana and the monstrous Smokey Mountains and the sheer density of the East coast.

And while she imagined him there, suddenly in her hands was a CD with the perfect title. Printed on the cover in a small, unassuming font was her mood and her utter joy and the way his nervous laughter made her skin tingle with delight.

"everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt."

Precisely.

Nothing feels more like freedom than being under the bluest sky, wearing bamboo flip flops on my feet, sitting inside of a tiny white convertible, listening to Less Than Jake at top volume, speeding between the Jefferson Memorial and the Washington Monument at noon on a Tuesday.

It's definitely what our forefathers had in mind.

Sunday.

Hard to believe I forgot about Sunday.

I forgot all about Gene Weingarten and homemade breakfast burritos and getting up close to noon. About putting new clean, cool sheets on my bed, tackling some lingering project like planting gerber daisies in my trusty old flower box, and long, drawn-out phone calls with old friends.

No other day of the week is quite as perfect. Filled with Coltrane and Getz and talking to strangers and random get-up-and-go walks that spring from nowhere.

This Sunday's been a long-time coming. Five weekends filled with travel and adventure and questions and longing made today's deliberate slowness unique and charmed. Hundreds of tiny, imperceptible moments cling to me, serving as perfect reminders. So that I won't forget again.

What magic memories did your Sunday bring?