bicycle, bicycle

I want a vintage bicycle.

But I’d have to add a wicker basket

to hold sparkly plum notebooks and pens made of bamboo.



I would wear an autumn skirt and a pair of peep toe shoes

Because it would be a girl’s bike

And ride to a field carpeted with fallen oak leaves.



I’d spend the day reading and writing and dreaming cloud high dreams

I’d speak to the wind about my plans

Because I’d have all the time in the world.



I’d murmur to the leaves about the pretty things I’d find

Pretties make the world a better place

And I’d sing with the sparrows about the shops in which the lovely would reside.



Then I’d hop back on my bicycle

I’d remember to ring the tiny silver bell

And I’d go make my dreams happen.

***



I don’t have a vintage bicycle

But I’m on the lookout

So I can’t ride out to the golden fields.



Instead, I sit in front of a low table

With a strong cup of caramel coffee

And tap my fingers across a keyboard.



I form sentences while stirring soups

No wind-whispering for now

And I wrap my dreams in clean, warm sheets.



Sometimes dreams don’t look like clouds

And clouds don’t look like dreams

But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop the dreaming.



Work and play

Play and work

Whoever said they couldn’t be the same thing?

***

Of what do you dream?

(photo)

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