Winter is the hardest season for me. Because it covers the promise of New with a blanket of white forgetfulness and then March happens and everything is brown but the air is green.
April and September are my favorite months, each bringing with it the culmination of my favorite things; Dreams and Realities.
Every April I plant new flowers and plan a garden to feed my family and care for soil and bring dirt into my house because I can. I wash my feet in the rain and soak in the sunshine. And I buy charcoal to taste the smoke. I drink wide brimmed glasses full of flavor and smell the intoxicating promise of summer.
The children play outside and go to sleep easy, we all work hard but play harder and splash in the memories of what we can do here. I want to build things, like a home, but I want to travel, like a merciless vagabond, and homeschool my children and eat all my meals with only my fingers and write wild poetry like a drunk under the stars.
I want to taste this life. To live this messy life wild. Wearing a garden on my arm and dreads in my hair – I want to escape the everyday and discover my tomorrow.
An archeologist of my own time here, I want to unearth all the fossils.