I decided right then and there to propose to her. No prepared speech nor ring to aid me. She lay upon the grass, eyes closed against the sun, blissfully enjoying the warm spring afternoon. Her relaxed features and slight smile revealed a presence and beauty that filled me with awe and unabashed joy. It felt as though I was being shepherded by benevolent forces into an impetuous proposal.

I savored the moment, lifting my gaze to look past the park, beyond the adjacent river and into the Seattle suburbs that lined the far bank.
Perhaps, I thought to myself, we would settle among those homes and businesses and start a family. We had talked often about escaping the urban core, excusing ourselves from the sterility of our modern apartment to a life that, if not the rural opposite, would at least allow us to see the horizon. I imagined that those living across the water didn’t have to work so hard to watch the sun set.
It wouldn’t do to rouse her. I was content to allow things to unfold naturally. Before long, she would open her eyes, prop herself on an elbow and place her hand on my hip as she always did. I would wait a beat, maybe two, and then begin the words that would cement our futures. Whatever those words were to be, they would surprise both of us. I knew only the final four and trusted the rest would come.

I wondered why I hadn’t asked her sooner. The goodness of all that was to come, it could have been the now. Had I erred in not forcing the issue, in patiently waiting for sublime guidance? Throughout my life, I had eschewed trailblazing, preferring instead to trust in serendipity. This approach minimized risk and the associated pressures, but I’m not certain that it didn’t clip my wings in the process.

The puppy’s owners were playing Frisbee. We had noticed it earlier, chasing ducks by the water’s edge and had chuckled as it tripped over itself trying to keep pace with the birds. Tan with a white chest, likely a Golden Retriever mix, it ignored me as it trundled over our blanket. I reached to grab its pink collar, but not before it was able to slide its puppy tongue along her cheek and up the side of her nose. Her startled expression quickly turned into a smile as she opened her eyes to the pup’s sudden affection. She raised herself onto an elbow and pulled the happy animal close for a hug. Laughing, she made her way to our picnic basket. The little dog sniffed at the bread but made short work of our remaining cheese. A short whistle sounded from across the grass and the puppy ran off.

Her attention elsewhere, it was clear to me that the moment had passed. She had missed it. We had missed it. The wind picked up and I helped her pack up our supplies and carry them to the parking garage. We saw a movie later that night, something with subtitles if I recall correctly.

Our relationship ran it’s course, never fully flowering, and neither of us moved to those suburbs. I hear little of her these days, as I’ve traded downtown Seattle for the skyscrapers of Chicago in what may have been the first bold decision of my life. In my top floor apartment, I can see out in nearly every direction if I choose. Yet, when I do the horizon beckons relentlessly, leaving me discontented and restless—the polar opposite of how I felt that day in the park. I hope that wherever she is, she doesn’t have to struggle to watch the sunset.

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