Let’s walk up the hill and along the rows
That do not ask questions. — Terrance Hayes

I am tired today, wrung out a little, weary. Too much contention on the interwebs, too much thinking about this contention, too much weeping for it.

Today, I am dreaming.

I want to wrap myself up in the blue of the night sky and glitter my skin with the stars.

I want my words to pour forth like honey, sticky and blessed in their sweetness.

I want to stroll trails lined with split logs beneath green leaves that will – not soon enough – dash to orange and then to ground.

I want to feel a puppy lick my face what certainly isn’t clean.

I want to take a cup of chai, beige with milk and sugar, and perch myself on a porch swing with a crocheted afghan over my legs and a book – that I may not read – at my feet.

I want to swing the gloaming away in dozy thought that doesn’t skitter but sways from idea to idea with the branches of the red maple above.

I want dusk on the farm, and autumn in the air, and a rest from all the knowing.

What do you want from the quietest, truest part of yourself today?