I do not like birds. I do not trust them. They look like they think mean thoughts. However, I admire them. Yes, I realize that is a contradiction. But they are beautiful. They are mysterious. They can do so many things I can’t. They can sing and fly and see so well.
But I love falling asleep in the summer to the sounds of their singing. Tonight, I was thinking about what I wanted to write, and all I could think about were the birds.
I love throwing the windows open and letting fresh air and the sounds of spring filter through my home.
I dream best in the spring and summer. I think it has a lot to do with the songs.
I have always been quite a vivid dreamer.
I remember having a dream about driving my car off of the earth, directly from Texas, around the moon (which is made of cheese), and back.
I can remember many of my dreams, and they have been starts for many of my favorite pieces of writing.
I am a summer girl. I don’t like anything about winter. Nothing. I love Christmas, and I compensate for the cold by decorating. But, it’s not my favorite holiday. It’s glorious and I adore each one spent with loved ones, but Memorial Day is my favorite. Memories are things I hold, cherish, and share.
When I don’t hear the birds, I hear frogs and other chirps that I cannot indentify.
I appreciate the harmonies that come in through the open windows. They help me find my creativity and I see nothing wrong with leaving a trail for my muses to find me.
My world slows considerably in the spring and summer. It’s the downside of my profession. I find a summer job that covers us financially, but intellectually I have felt like I took a step backward.
And in those instances, I know that’s why I can hear my chirping. I need it. My inspiration.
Thank you. Winged creatures. You know just when to show.
And when I need to dream.