That day began like a faint, sweet melody. 

Simple, but not hollow. Quiet, but not indistinct. 

It followed exam week, a week that heedlessly escalated like an unwarranted yet persistent crescendo. The ascent was not graceful. It was rather brass. Insolent. Slightly muddy with too much movement, like a junk drawer in your kitchen or the sound of a fly buzzing too close to your ear. There was simply too much work attempting to fit into too little space.

But soon, the unforgiving fervor of the week diminished in noise, and my days quietly flowed into winter break. Specifically, on that day—the day as sweet as a melody—the space around me was intertwined with a subtle peace, and the blithe air was not stiffened with anything. 

On that day, I ran an errand with a mom, one that I dreaded at first; however, my hesitant and stubborn steps quickly acquired a bounce, a pep, a little bit of joy. It happened almost instantly as I walked outside.

It’s strange because I’ve always lived by the same trees and under the same vast sky; yet on that day, everything radiated a compelling and unfounded beauty.

As I drove with my mom down a rural road, I felt as if the rolling hills tumbled into each other, laughing as they touched and smiling with each short peak that formed. I felt as if the many trees, whose branches draped over the narrow road, looked down at my little black car, quickly and graciously greeting me as I sped past. I felt as if the horizon was infinite, and the powdery blue sky willingly enveloped the wonderful world around me.

The quiet comfort of the bright colors forced my eyelids open, and the delicate breeze filled my lungs and trickled through my bloodstream. 

Yet, despite the joy it engendered, I sometimes wonder if there was anything conventionally significant about the day. I know the colors will dull in my mind with time. The breeze will diminish, becoming extinguished like a candle whose flame grew too tired. The minor memory will sit in my mind, slowly collecting dust like an untouched novel at the back of a blind woman’s bookshelf.

Due to its finite life, I find that people often disregard moments like this, the seemingly insignificant moments, in search for something greater. 

People commonly look at the sky, seeking tomorrow. They see the trees, trying to calculate how high they can climb. They view the road ahead of them, narrowing their sight to only the paved cement while disregarding the glowing life beside it.

We live in a world driven by the desire to move forward; however, in the process, the current moment is sacrificed. 

Therefore, I like to believe that although an everyday moment like this isn’t necessarily a valuable milestone or a birthday or a special point in time, it is still significant.

It is significant because, in my admiration, the space around me came alive.

It is significant because it allowed me to be awake in the current moment.

It is significant because it simply exists. 

So, I will continue to take in the moments that sing a quiet melody, even if the cadence is full of faults, because they exist, and they deserve to be acknowledged.