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look ahead.

[jeff]

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There are so many things I want to do. Become a midwife. Backpack the John Muir Trail at night. Keep bees. Hike across Iceland. Join the Peace Corps. Build a yurt. Make my own clay. Learn how to knit with the fat colorful skeins of yarn on my bed. Raise a fruit tree. Live in the Pacific Northwest. Become an expert at giving away money, encouragement, baked goods. Learn the mysterious habits of clouds. 

I want to farm, to write, to weld, to walk, to listen, to build. I want to grow up. I want my laughter to be a fact of myself, not something that comes and goes, but a fixture like the bones in my hands. I want to relearn how to breathe and throw so many teapots that I can draw them up in my sleep. I want to have dreams that tell me stories I haven't yet heard. I want to not lose heart, not to keep it in the marrow of my bones but on my lips and the palms of my hands. I want to write letters, always, to never stop praying for strength to break from things not meant for me, to cleave to the author of everything I love.