A reprise of a perfect day?

Perfection doesn't have to be this grand, huge concept. It can be small and significant. Moments in time, where everything seems to align, can be perfection. When it gets no better.

About a year ago, I had what I consider the perfect day. There were no fireworks, no cymbals crashing, no parades. Just two things, two bookends--that's all that was required.

I woke up earlier than normal that morning. The sun was pouring through my window, and it was already getting hot. I had the radio on, set to a great jazz station. They usually play some good, soft songs before switching over to classical. Groggy, I rolled over, and heard this beautiful, lilting song. I laid in bed, just dreamily listening to Herbie Hancock's Maiden Voyage. It's quiet, soft--just the way to start a day.

Work was, well, work. Nothing remarkable.

But a friend was gathering some friends for a drink at a rooftop bar in New York. Sometimes, I head to the city after work, and figured that night would be good to catch up with some folks. Caught the train, made my way to the bar. When I got to the deck, 25 stories up--wow. Right there, looking north, was the Empire State Building. So close, you could touch it. The sun was beginning to set, a warm breeze blew in. It was still warm--the kind of warm that comes at the end of the day that feels like a nice blanket around you in the winter. You just want to stay, drink, talk, laugh, let the view sink in. The conviviality of the night was the perfect compliment to hearing Maiden Voyage in the morning. I left the bar, feeling like I was walking on air. Again, New York has that effect on me.

I thought about that day this morning because I woke up, turned on the radio, and heard--Maiden Voyage. Now, it's raining, and I have my early commute to the city tomorrow. But will today be perfect? In its own way, yes.