Mississippi Savor Day
The day unfolded with crisp clarity. Mid-60s air, a playful wind, and the kind of sky that carried both clouds and sudden shafts of light. I set out with no rush, walking from my car toward Diane’s, and the weather itself held me so completely that I walked two blocks past my turn. I laughed at myself, realizing that savoring had already begun before the meal even arrived.
Inside, the atmosphere was warm and easy. I sat at the bar beside a couple who spoke of the very dish I had chosen: the mung sausage with rice and egg. Their words affirmed what my body already knew, it was a day for nourishment and delight. The plate came out bright and grounding, and we shared in a quiet communion of recognition: sometimes strangers mirror our own hunger for simple, beautiful food. A mango lychee croissant was recommended, a promise I carried home for later, to be enjoyed on the balcony under sweatshirt skies.
Afterward, I let the river call me. The long way back became the right way, tracing the Great River Road that runs between Minneapolis and the Mississippi. I paused to photograph paddleboats, metallic museums, bridges laced with graffiti, and the textured surfaces of stone walls. Each view revealed another facet of the river’s story: nostalgia, rebellion, endurance, and change.
But the truest moment came when I noticed a stand of tall flowers swaying near the water’s edge. Joe-Pye weed, though I did not yet know its name. Their crowns of pink and purple blooms were alive with bees—fat, humming, devoted. I captured them once in stillness, and once in motion, transforming the scene into a sweep of color and wind. In that instant, the boundary between plant, pollinator, and person dissolved. I was simply part of the river’s rhythm, held in its savoring.
Today was not about doing but about dwelling in weather, in food, in river, in flower. A reminder that savoring is not luxury but necessity, a way of letting the soul breathe alongside the body.
Reflective Questions
1. When was the last time I became so immersed in beauty that I lost track of direction, as I did walking past my turn today?
2. What does savoring feel like in my body—where do I notice release, fullness, or softening when I let myself truly dwell?
3. How might I bring the same spirit of savoring into the ordinary week ahead, even in the smallest moments?
