I always find myself dreaming of a place that smells like freshly cut grass and a sun that speaks of spring all year round. A place where I can sit and watch chickens feed on kernels as horses chew on hay. Where the sunrise and the sunset is separated by eternity and the streets are stretched by a mile. I always find myself dreaming of a place that is surrounded by roses, with a clothesline full of linens in everlasting white. Where there is no one I should be, no one to please, no one to disagree with, no one but me. Where the roads are wide meadows and moonlight sifts through oak trees every night. Where there is no tomorrow, only later, and daily conversations are of Proust, Austen and Monet. Where I could read and walk and read and walk and read. All day, all day, all day.*poof*...there goes January ;-)
