The wind, now brisk, has led the thoughts to wander off to snugweathered places and row your boat fantasy.
Headspace fully occupied with the sort of thinking that allows the senses no rest.
Wandering, drifty illusions to places of summer dreams,
where one can escape to a shiny-weathered habitat.
The kind found in digital-filtered images of places uncovered by travel,
or by nosediving into a sidewalk painting of the Mary Poppins sort, by way of a Dick Van Dyke dismount.
The seasons change,
and so do we.
I hope one winter you'll find the courage to dance with the leaves, as they flurry to the call of the frosty tide.
I hope one spring you'll find a sanctuary stuffed with larger than life dreams.
I hope one summer you'll find a way to sail home,
and not get lost along the way.
I hope one fall you'll fall in ridiculous, maddening, can't-stand-a-minute-without-the-other kind of love.
although I can't guarantee there will be smooth sailing.
This is your journey,
no one can walk through the seasons for you.
no one can walk through the seasons for you.
So dream on, dreamy rowboat.
One day, you too shall find yourself well-seasoned,
and you'll see that the cold can be just as lovely.
x
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