The Wish

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I want to breathe it all in and turn it into magic as it comes tumbling out;

I want to live in the woods in a cabin that is not-quite-full-of-just-enough, with birds as neighbours, and every now and then stop by the river for a conversation with a deer (or two);

I want to spend hours, days and years making things with my heart and my hands and I want to be able to sustain a simple life by doing so;

I want to can food i grow, bake bread I can digest, drink coffee out of big mug that never gets cold, make cheese out of nuts and,

I want long moments with old friends (and new ones, too), sharing secrets that set us free and fall deep into conversations that untangle themselves over days and nights, rainy afternoons spent on a screened-in porch reading endless piles of books and cosy evenings in front of a fire, telling tall tales and picking shapes out of the stone of the fireplace;

I want the first thing I see in the morning to be the gift of being alive and the last thing I see at night to be the sparkle of the stars in the sky and,

Every full and new moon, I want the sacredness of a circle of wild, beating hearts to sing, dance, cry and pray with, dirt gracing the souls of our feet with feathers in our hair, as we become more of who we are each time;

I want the tips of my fingers to be stained blue from the indigo ritual that colors everything from my bed sheets to my socks,

I want to know what my dog is thinking when his forehead wrinkles just so;

I want windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling so that the light of the sun and the moon can tumble in at their own peril and

I want a big bathtub with claws as feet;

I want to learn the language of the seasons and allow her ebb and flow to shift me;

I want to give back and give growth and give love in every word I speak and,

I want to know the right words to say when my heart is broken.








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