Dreamland

It is cold here now. All I find myself wanting to do bourough like a hybernating animal and wait for spring.

I have dreams and plans for the sunshine, of planting herbs, sun on my shoulders, of outdoor painting. But for now it remains only a dream.

I must be comforted by cups of hot tea, coffee and hot chocolate. Slow roasted meals of animal and earth. Of piles of yarn ready to be knotted and knitted into practical objects made to keep winter's frost off of delicate skin.

And when summer's heat drives near to insanity, I will have dream's and plans for winter. Of hot chocolate by the fire, stews and roasts of knitted hats and scarves.

I must think in the here and now and dream in the there and when and somehow, someway, make them see eye to eye, so that I may forever live in a dream.