A Moment of Sunshine

I woke up to a patch of blue sky warming the cold streets where pedestrians were still scurrying, faces against the wind, hurrying on to work and the places they always go on a Friday morning.

It looked like the little blueness would work into full sunshine, if only for an hour before the clouds picked up in the afternoon. Maybe I was in a cynical mood, but I thought about Ray Bradbury’s short story, “Summer in a Day,” and felt that I had to get out. As quickly as possible.

Since I don’t yet have a place to go in the middle of a Friday morning, I grabbed my bike, the one I have hardly ridden since college but somehow made it on the shipment from California. And I rode across Malmö.

Malmö is small and covered in designated bike paths, so it is not difficult to ride across it in less than an hour.

I rode to the beach and walked out onto one of the piers. There was a trio of older women walking together, touching hands, laughing, speaking a middle eastern language I did not recognize, letting the gentle sea breezes tease the scarfs around their faces while they posed for a picture together. A Scandinavian man rode his bicycle to the pier, walked past the women in their coats and scarves, stripped down to his shorts and jumped into the frigid ocean water. That is so Malmö.

I rode up the beach, into neighborhoods I did not know, ones still transitioning from the old industrial shipping docks to modern apartments. A few fishing boats clung to the docks, reminding the present of the past. Even human infrastructure has a limited purpose, a time and a day, a moment of usefulness. Abandoned rails nearly hidden in the sidewalk testify to that. I wondered when the newly constructed apartment buildings along the docks would be outdated and laughable.

I stopped to observe a swan family. The “ugly ducklings,” almost the size of their mother paddled behind her gracefully, effortlessly gliding along. I wondered if they would stay for winter or fly somewhere south. I wondered when they would grow white feathers and look like their parents.

The cob stayed behind, nonchalantly guarding his flock while serendipitously eating the water plants growing at the edge of the bay. This summer I saw a swan attack a golden retriever that had gotten to close to his cygnets. I wondered if this was the same bird. I kept a respectful distance.

Then I rode home, feeling warmed by the sun.