I’m daydreaming of being in Philadelphia, waking up to the sun streaming in through the window and hearing the sounds of people walking, cars outside, and birds alighting on wires outside.
Waking up, I’d take a quick shower and Scott and I would head out for a croissant and a coffee from the café a block towards Rittenhouse Park. We would get our coffee and go sit in the park on a stone bench and people watch as the nannies usher their children across the lawn, while the dog-walkers bring their city dogs through.
We would wander down the streets and take photos of the sights, pretending Scott still lives here and that I still visit every weekend. I would wear just a windbreaker because the spring air in Philadelphia is warm and inviting, and the sun beats down on us as we walk.
We might go to a shop or stop at the Rittenhouse Market to pick up a bottle of wine for when we get back to the apartment later that night. Searching for live music for the evening, we grab a drink at the Wrap Shack and chat with the bartender who knows us and likes asking me about life in Maine.
Philadelphia is a wonderful city for walkers and sightseers. Maybe we visit a bar we’ve never been to before, maybe we visit the amazing recycled house, maybe we just take a walk on the river or go see an old cemetery. The entire time, we’re never bored, we’re never restless, we’re never really even doing anything.
In the evening as the city starts to liven up, we have a late dinner at Parc and revel in the French cuisine and the amazing chacutérie that the chef gives us when dinner runs a few minutes late. A tight-fitting black dress and heels with curls in my hair, I’m far away from the farm for just a couple of days. Just two days of no chores, no time limits, no snow or wind or lambs or horse manure.
That evening we find a band playing in an old bar and dance our night away.
The next morning we get up late for a delicious brunch at Dandelion and get ready to face the drive home.
I’ve been daydreaming about a trip back to Philly for months.