I wanted to write with lightning bolts from the darkest clouds; ink ran dry.
I desired to blaze the boldest trail in the thickest snags; clippers are rusty.
I craved an exotic mushroom dish in uptown Manhattan; stuck in an elevator.
I want to twirl my dress in the air with outstretched arms and eyes skyward. Then I will fall down from the world’s spin and get grass stains on my underpants.
J.L.
Going On 40 