while it's winter, the sun is still bright and warm, and the breeze is as cool and tastes like honeysuckle and roses. the skies are the blue of a periwinkle, with clouds that resemble fairy floss.
it feels like coming home again, to a land awash with milk and honey.
yesterday i sat out in the backyard of my new place, eating fruit, reading Weetzie Bat, and listening to the sounds of a neighbours radio. And I honestly felt like Cecelia Lisbon (of The Virgin Suicides), for her time spent in the grass, writing in a journal with sunlight pouring down upon her. Perhaps not with the craziness she enlisted, but just that sense of an endless day in the sun with nowhere else to go. Only unlike Cecelia, there wasn't anywhere else I wanted to be.
I want to embrace sunlight, fly with the wind, dance upon stars.
I want to leap to the moon, climb trees, and let water fall around me like teardrops of the gods above.
I want to stand atop a mountain edge and see nothing but the beauty of life below, the wide expanse of freedom beyond. I want to sing into the canyons and hear the echo of something that is pure and true.
I am the lucky one, because by god, I know I can do all of that.
It's starting now.