I leave my bed early in the morning. I tiptoe into the room where our instruments hang like planets above our heads. I pull at the curtains until sunbeams pour over every string and strand of hair. I look outside to see cars in the distance and if I squint well enough, the cars begin to look like tiny spaceships carrying strangers to strange places. Some days, I'll wish I was looking at a mountain, other days, I'll want sea waves, collecting foam on a shore, but today, I am pleased to be seeing the electricity of a city life. There are so many people here, most of who are strangers. They buzz around like bees while I stand still enough to hear my own heart beating.
When I look outside and see all of the people, I ask myself where they are headed to. Some of them must be artists, plumbers, doctors or dog walkers who follow the same commute each day. I don't know if I could do it — waking every day with the same road to travel seems sad and ornery to me, but for many it is a way of life. Perhaps in the future, I'll be the one turning an ignition to a car at the same hour every morning, pressing between gas pedal, brakes and the turning of wheels until I arrive to my destination. The same destination as yesterday. The same destination as tomorrow.
If only I could forever be an artist and the road to travel was always changing its route. If only every hour led me to my favorite winter hide out (pictured here) where the creeks run and the wild oak trees rise...Happiness.
outfit details: oasap skirt, value village thrifted shoes