For the first time in a decade I won’t be stuck behind beige walls in a cubicle this summer. It will be the first summer since my daughter was one and my son was three that I will be fully present and available to explore carelessly under the sun. No mad scrambling in the morning. No late-night log ins. No trade-offs. This makes me happy. It makes me grateful. After a dark and long winter, I’m free to roam on my own. At 43 I’m evolving again and this time everything I do is going to be from my soul; for my soul and theirs. The ones I love.
I’m wiping away the dust from days of sitting in a basement of beige.
I’m clearing space for new freckles on my face.
I’ll be looking for worms, scratching bug bites, absorbing sun from a hammock on a rung.
I’ll be racing bikes and counting stars while I pour lightning bugs into jars. My feet slathered in tar.
Kool-Aid mustache. Skinned knees tattooed green from grass.
My hair wild. My soul sprinkled with sand.
You can find me deep in the reeds where the bullfrogs sleep. Stealing flowers I want to keep.
Making magic soup from day old rain.
I’ll be chasing the wind. Writing stories out of stuff in the sky.
I’m gathering mounds of sea glass.
I’m jagged turned gem.
After all those waves.
After all that wind.
My bucket is filled with dreams again…