I hear it calling, whispering, beckoning…

I will do this work for today, okay? I agree for now, but I could never stay here. not for long. Now it is sad-sweet-fragile-beauty-harmonica-spring but soon it will be cockadoodledoo-at-sunrise-spring and I will go running on trails and leave this place with no windows, this place of dead air and drab colors. All of that life out there, I hear it whispering, calling, beckoning me to get the heck out of here. I think a conspiracy grows inside of me alongside the encroaching fecundity of the outside world…a leaf unfurling, so slow you can’t see it until one day the skeleton tree in your front yard is covered in spring green and blossoms and suddenly you know the veil of winter has been pulled back, you made it through another year. Come on! Come on, I want to hold your hand and dive into the cold fresh freedom of the unfrozen water as the earth starts to reach its branch arms and blossom fingers for the sky, sun and moon again.

One of my guilty pleasures is leaving …my guilty-tricky claim that my true responsibility is to live this life and push away all the shoulds. I will step out of this office and my feet will hit the sand, my hands will grab the trees, and I hope I can hold my breath under the water and watch the waves crash above me backlit by the summer sun. There is no money worth working through this years spring inside taupe walls.

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