I just wanna live that chicken life. And have goats. And make chevre. And have a big garden. And ferment stuff. I want to spend my mornings with my hands in the dirt and my afternoons building, creating, writing. I want to see the mountains, feel the sea, and ghost the heat.
I want to explore all the countries and hang out in lively cafes having conversations with people I meet along the way. I want to attend author readings and thought talks. To go to galleries and shows. To write a book on a train. To take in that fresh autumn air and intoxicating scent of new school supplies. And boots. There will be boots.
I want to live that hygge life. Cozy. Comfy. Soft. Curled up by the fire reading. Slippers and candles. Watching the snow fall but never driving in it. I want to bake apple crisp and drink mulled wine. Sit around a giant table with people I love, laughing and arguing late into the evening. Playing board games. Watching masterful films. Waking up while it’s still dark and watching the sun rise on a morning drive.
I want to prep the soil and plant new seeds. I want to deep clean and walk in the rain. To rearrange all the furniture and chop my hair. I want to be enchanted by something beautiful or tragic, stomp in puddles, and fight the wind on an unruly sort of day. I want light and color, but in small doses. And that sweet, sweet resurrection.