Rolling hills and fields of tall grass and wildflowers. Shade beneath a sprawling tree, wicker basket, strawberries, mason jars of fresh squeezed lemonade…… baby blue and white plaid and bare feet, crazy hair. Breeze, leaves, bumblebees. Cold water in a clear stream. Cotton candy clouds. Someone there knows how to play a fiddle. Toes stuck between the metal, hopping the fence to pick berries. Wet feet on a hot deck. Somewhat sweater weather. Dusky sky, the stars and fireflies begin their shift to stand watch for the sun. Glowing embers, sticky hands and chocolate lips. A toast to the toads and the crickets and creeping things. Running fingers down bark and breaking branches beneath boots down a beaten path in the woods. The world in a deep, almost deathlike slumber and i’ve never been more alive. And i’ll run as fast as my heart beats and compete with the wind until I reach the end of the path that leads back to the grassy field, now still….. and off in the distance, two headlights down an old dirt road, kicking up clouds of dust as Hank’s voice is carried on the breeze until it disappears behind the trees….
Sometimes I feel so chill. I get in a mood and I zone out and i’m not even here anymore, i’m somewhere else entirely… and I hear music and everything inside me feels totally different.
Dreamerism. I have that.