I think of the countryside not only during times of tired eyes or sadness, I think of it when I am happy too. It is this place in my mind where nothing can go wrong; acres and acres of undeveloped land, vines and lilac bushes racing towards the soft sky, a sea of green wild wonder ahead of my feet. As I get older and closer to considering myself a full fledgling adult, the dream of a countryside home grows sweeter to me. I can see it now — a kitchen window looking onto a patch of raspberries that we pluck like strings and stain our clothes red in the summertime. I see babies fattened with milk as they learn to sit underneath their mother's apple tree. I see goats, I see sheep, I hear meows and smell kettle corn rising on the stovetop. I don't see the green dying when winter comes or the babies getting sick or growing old. In my dreams of a countryside, the air is gentle and nothing but joy in the hazy sunlight can occur.
We all know such a countryside doesn't exist because the world is made up of seasons and the changing of moods. Bad days can follow good days, flowers eventually die off of the tree, babies go to school and then they leave home, empty nests happen, snow happens, birds fall out of the sky and dreams get buried by dirt, but in my brain, there is a blossom shaped like a countryside home where I walk hand in hand with my heartbeat. I can sit here and count on good luck or saving every penny in a lifetime just so I can remove the word imaginary before country home in a sentence, but the truth is, there is something brave in letting a dream be a dream. After all, what makes a bad morning taste less bitter if we don't have our dreams to lean on.
We visited this lilac bush on an evening marked by spring weather. We strolled and ran as if we became children again and school was out for the rest of summer. It is my hope that every warm day this year will find me outside either in the garden or underneath a tree. I have no need for a rear view mirror when this is what lies ahead.