I Crave

I crave healthy food. I don't want any food that's touched plastic. I want food straight from the earth and of the earth. I want it all. I want to wear a closet of linen and wool, softened by the years. I want to be an artist and builder and poet and I want time to heal. I want to have sheep and a llama and work their wool. I want to have hens and maybe two ducks and want to tend an herb garden and make preserves in the fall. I want to prune trees and create moss sculptures and grow mushrooms and sit in a hammock in summer evenings. I want to wear a worn bandana over my frizzy gray curls, dirt on the knees of my overalls and caked under my nails. I want to have cats and access to a gigantic library, smelling of dry papyrus and leather... with cozy chairs in sunny window boxes, the room dotted in rainbows from the crystals in the window. I want to read for hours in the sunshine. I want to walk between rhodedendron trees in May and through a rose garden every day in June and ride rollercoasters at the fair in the heat of late summer. I want my face painted and hennaed hands. I want a new tattoo done for me by a talented ***** person who ends up becoming my lover... and I want to learn how to fall asleep again. I want it all. I crave.