Today is unseasonably warm, and I have decided to stop punishing myself for once again failing to take up a winter sport.
But riding my new bike (her name is Yum-Yum, she is a Mikado. I will post pic of her soon) around toronto island, I found myself craving very specific pleasures that come with warmer months.
Just grabbing my wallet and walking out of the house with no coatbootsglovesscarfhatbag. I want to go for a canoe ride while dragon flies mate on my paddle. I want my skin to smell like lakewater and sun. I want to read in a hammock. I want that noodily, bodily-alive consistency that you get when you don't hunch over to hoard heat. I want to sleep under a light sheet, just toes and finger tips touching on a hot night. Pick up peas on the side of the road. Corn. Barbecue. Sunset stretching for hours. Basketball after dinner. Bike rides at night. Feet up on the porch with a cold beer. lazy cats swatting at bumble bees. Chickadeedeedeedee. get in the water flop onto deck. and again. and again. Tired dogs loping home with barely-dried bellies just before night-time.
