I awake with the feeling of sunshine on my face. The temperature in the room is as close to perfect as it could be. I know If I don’t get a move on there won’t be any good tomatoes left.
I quickly shower and shake the sleepiness from my eyes, unchain my bike from the rack out back and hit the road, trying not to crash as I make a mental list of what I need to pick up.
The wonderful thing about the Market on Saturdays is that you really never know what you’re going to get. It’s a new adventure every time, and I always seem to leave with way more than I originally expected. As I arrive and try and find a spot to store my bike, the sounds of people buying and selling the smells or lavender and fresh bread fill the air. It’s a sensory overload, in the best way possible.
I make my way through the crowd searching for every item on my list, and I can’t help but think this is how life should be. Simple. Everyone sharing the things they love. The Market is a picture of community. It’s more than a place to simply buy bread. It’s a place to share ideas, meet friends, and try new things. Even if I leave without anything, the ritual of going and being in this place is reward enough.