Tuesday, March 23



today i've been daydreaming. of gardens mostly. my bones have been begging me to go somewhere new.
i need somewhere new, at least for a short time. a breath of fresh air, please. i've been dreaming of gardens. i'd like to get lost inside a garden. lost. lost. lost. i'd like to be lost among the flowers and trees. i'd like to lay in the grass and hear the wind dancing through the leaves. the quiet still.

when i was a girl i would spend hours playing in my grandma's backyard. surrounded by the lilacs and roses, peach trees and cherry trees, trees flowering pink and the morning glory (which i became so fond of after one day grandpa and I looked them up in our encyclopedias.) i would sit on the old swing, the swaying motions often put me to sleep. i'd awake to an ant making his way up my leg and shake him off. most days i crushed few flowers pressing my curious nose into their delicate petals. on days i was naughty i would attempt to climb trees not much larger than myself. one day kyson and i broke a tree branch. grandma cried. i never tried to climb that tree again. there was always mischief to be made in that house, all hours of the day and night. my popsicle stained lips had smiles spread across them each day. i could pluck the fresh fruit from the tree whenever i'd like. the wooden fence served as my castle walls. convinced i was a detective i would often climb up  the fence to observe the neighborhood. Rose was always asleep. asleep or gone. Gregg was always at work. my sister and i (back then, my partner in crime. we were as thick as thieves) roamed the neighborhood. exploring. in the front yard there were berries. they were sour and no good for eating but their juice was red as blood. Jess and i acted out battle scenes and to add realness to our plays would smear berry juice around our necks upon being defeated. the old man next door clapped his hands in delight "just like hopalong cassidy." he'd laugh. we had no idea who hopalong cassidy was but old rendal seemed to be a big fan. our other neighbor, bill, would nod and smile and begin telling us stories about the war. some days it felt like such a chore to listen to old man minters stories, others it was a treat.
but every day, whether i was exploring the back yard, battling, or doing detective work i came back inside with popsicle lips and dirty feet.
there is something i really like about my feet when they are covered in dirt.
there is something i really like about my lips when they are stained from popsicles.

i'd like to visit a garden some time soon. very soon. my heart is aching to find a garden.

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