I must confess, the view from where I sit has been rather grey.
She sits quietly in front of her second story window. Even though the calender says February, the grass is green. Humidity hangs in the air. The cadence of the raindrops hitting her windowpane lull her into a quiet daydream. Life has been moving much too quickly for her liking. Time to think is a precious rarity in her world. Usually her self-seclusion brings on peace. Today it brings a longing for something more. Her heart longs desperately for the flowers to bloom or the snow to fall. This muggy in-between only causes her heart and legs to grow antsy.
She knows either snow will fall or the flowers will grow in their own due time. One or the other must come. She cares not which, only that she finds the strength to breathe again.
A discomforting itch one cannot place--
The longing for new time and space.
Wanderlust will strike us all
Unexpected, we heed her call.
Take me away to that garden above--
Give me wings like the white-feathered dove
Show me the world I have not seen.
I know somewhere is beauty I can glean.
Let me breathe the cool, clean air--
The smog of this city hangs in my hair.
My lungs are restricted by ropes of twine
My heart, it ignores the wandering signs.
I'll be covered in ivy before I can move--
My static state is merely cued
By the intense desire to run away.
I really can no longer stay.