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.
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