Dreamland

On a cold winter day, when I wake to bright sun pouring through the generic white blinds I can't help but begin day-dreaming just seconds after ending night-dreaming.

One day soon, I will look out my own choice of window treatment and view my own trees and garden, rather than the street over-filled with parked cars. I am okay trading out "souped up" car engine noises for possible yelpy neighbor dogs. I hear dogs constantly anyway as they attempt to lay claim on the only tiny plot of grass in the vicinity. The same grass plot management claims should not be used as a dog run, despite it being equipped with dog poop bags and a garbage can.

I'm not alone. Erik wakes up and feels the warmth of the indoor sun, and despite knowing the temperatures outside are much colder than either of us prefer his first words are, "I want to go work outside!" We both know what he means. This farm-boy ("fetch me that pitcher") needs his land. It's not okay that we have none. Now, there is a rock pile out the back door, complete with exposed pipes and broken glass. Just perfect to let the boys go outside and play.

We all need that dream yard.

I want to prep new space for gardening, suppress weeds, plant bulbs. I want to hang up the birdhouses the boys have built. I want to feel like my neighbors might be around longer than a few months and have conversations over the back yard fence.

I can live just fine with whatever I have. I can adapt. I can appreciate that I have so much more than so many. Yet, it is the vision of our own yard just over the horizon that keeps it bearable. These daydreams are sweet.

Sweet dreams . . .