Winter is slowly sleeping. And I am getting that wonderful itching in my bones.
I want to be moving again. I want to be running, jumping, swimming, swinging, singing. I want an interpretive dance party to the Fleet Foxes in the middle of a meadow. I want sweet summer kisses. I want heartbeats and drumbeats. I want fresh peaches and honey, and tree-bark scraped inner thighs. I want worn copies of Walt Whitman. I want baskets and farmers markets and sundresses. I want that warm-belly feeling.
"Summer in the Mountains" by Li Po
Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt sitting in a green wood.
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;
A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head.