You know what I crave? Porch swings, small lakes, beach swings, tiny homes with stone paths leading to the door, the moment in certain films, the instant that exists right before the last word is spoken, or the second, the breath that occurs right before the last image appears, one willow tree branch drifting with the wind, reaching to touch another, the space of time that lingers as the air, the breath of God, moves leaves. Fire. Love. Music. Touch. Peace. Safety. A blanket and a teddy bear. Time that has no time at all...to simply...be. Play. Play. Play. I'm winking just now. A fucking mosh pit. I'm too old, but I'd sure try anyhow, ha. Riding in some car, cracking up, the music blaring, with no direction in mind. Naked hiking. Actually, I intend to do that soon. Nudist joints appeal to me from time to time. Yes, indeed.
And don't you believe that the trees hear us? I'm not certain people truly hear me, but I know that the trees do. They seem so kind, so gentle. People can be fierce and unpredictable. Although, sometimes loving and unique, of course. But I feel that only the trees hear my true voice. Today, I talked to them. Of course, throughout my days, I speak to folks anyhow. Just for kicks, I guess. Many days, I still feel invisible.
But I speak anyway. Just because that's what people do. When I'm moving, when I'm working, I'm actually quite light and carefree at times. I am oftentimes hilarious. Strange to think about how I was joking around just a few hours ago.
How different I can be from one hour to the next.
Truth be told, when I am alone, writing, or when I'm singing songs, when I'm in this space, I'm still the same person that I was when I was nine years old.
I go somewhere.
Hello, I'm glad you're here. Nice to see you going somewhere with me. Have a nice evening, kiddo. We are secret children.
Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell
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