Tuesday, March 6, 2012
I can not wait for that blessed in-between of spring and summer, where I fall asleep under three quilts to the sound of rain under open windows. To mornings where I see my breath in the house, but wear sandals to work, and the heat of morning jog is all you need to wake up the body. I can't wait for snap pea vines to curl and flower and the spring equinox twang of my banjo, where I play slow and clumsy waltzed buzzed on homebrew. Makes you want to buy a hammock and put a sleeping bag in it under a drop cloth. Sway and sing, impervious to the change around you.