declaration of dreams

one day, I will have a closet full of long dresses: peach, embroidered, lace, scalloped, satin, starched, flowing, sleeves of every shape. I will do everything slowly, as there will be no rush: turning pages, boiling water, buying apples and flowers, forming words, pulling weeds, folding clothes, chopping garlic, painting lakes and silver trees. I will wipe dirt across my forehead and not notice until hours later. I will sit in reverie, with a warm cat on my lap, eyes fixed on the fractured waltz of raindrops down the glass. I will have friends over until midnight on a weeknight, all of us glowing by candle light, passing bottles and bottles of red wine, dishes of cheese, fruits, breads,  Ella on the record player, sage and roses in my hair, a soft breeze coming off the balcony. I will have heavy cashmere blankets for my body to disappear into every night, a small wood stove for when it's cold. Brisk morning air over the ocean at 6am when I am rising (slowly) to salt and waves; books on every wall, desk, and table, ivy & eucalyptus next to the sink. I will buy my bread from the same woman who bakes it, walk past lilacs on my way into town, have a bicycle and a picnic blanket for when I need to go far away, a heavy bronze key for when I need to return. I will spend long days on the sand, under lazy sun or the steel grey skies of a storm; sit in a small cafe with a warm mug and the smell of blueberry scones when the rain starts to fall; slip under cool, pressed linen sheets to dream in the late afternoon. I will pack all of my things on occasion and go off to a new country for a week or two, or maybe five. When home again, I will seek out a small, unassuming spot in the woods, needing the freedom of trees, with a lantern to hang when dusk comes on suddenly, a pine ridge to look out on, or maybe some desert stars. I will be neat and mostly organized, but prone to tornadoes of disarray when inspiration comes on like lightning; I will write long papers for no one and poems too. Sometimes I will wear dark lipstick for no particular occasion. I will have the presence of mind to care for all of my belongings. Maybe I will learn to sew, wash things gently by hand, have a garden of herbs and flowers. My evenings will be silent and gently lit, plenty of room to breathe and think. Candles and incense and hot tea. Bringing the day to a close with the peace of intimately knowing my heart and the fractional, glorious place I occupy in the cosmos.