Everyday I want to find mail. Everyday I want the dip in the front of my hair to lay flat. Everyday I want to manage a list of pertinent tasks, until finally there are no more. Everyday I want thoughtful meals. Everyday I want to have fresh breath and clear skin. Everyday I want to identify a new bird species.
Less clutter, more jokes, less confusion, more sit ups, fewer snails, weeds and black widow spiders. Lots more energy and hope and ganas. More carrot juice, with lime, ginger, apples, beets. More daffodil bulbs and sweet peas and tomatoes. Fewer magazine subscription inserts. Fewer doubts. Fewer dry lake beds.
I wish ours was a secret flying Odyssey, and we could buckle up and ride the skies to our favorite places, without traffic, resistance or fear. All the way to Oregon, Mexico, Wisconsin or through the Grand Canyon. We could switch the Button and our solar powered wings would unfurl and take us to our tropical Island, yellow guavas, blue bays and the rolling sugarcane hills. We would set down on some wide, warm beach and hula in the sand.
Summertime would find us alighting in my Mother's yard, with pails for blueberries and blackberries and raspberries; as fresh and delicious as her own Bogbeads. We could fly from festival to festival and choose our own inflight movie. Grandpa Ronnie could tell the stories of the stars, from high above the forest trees.
I would roll down the windows and fly in low over corn fields and across meadows, follow streams to creeks, and creeks to rivers, and rivers to Grandma's house. We could land gently in the back yard, spend a week or two raking leaves, baking pies and playing Scrabble. We would walk in town, and sit around the kitchen table. We would visit and laugh, listening to children at play.
Everyday I want to be safe to dream and imagine and hope. Everyday I want to enjoy the privilege of walking through my home and thinking very little or very much, and writing too.