Wanderlust

"Life is either a great adventure 
or nothing."  
Helen Keller

I am dying a slow death in this city.
Suffocating in pollution and politics.  Trapped in traffic and tragedy. Confined in sense and suburbia.
The stronghold of my wanderlust is so tenacious that sometimes I feel like an addict jonesing for the next hit.
It's one of those days.  My gypsy soul ran by me tonight, spanked me on the ass. and begged me to go play with her.
And here I am- left longing for her beauty.

She promised the reflection of white capped mountain peaks on glassy waters, and air so fresh I could see my breath.  She teased me with the taste of cool rivers that wash away tears when splashed on a dusty face. We fantasized about aspen forests, our necks straining to catch a glimpse of the golden treetops through rays of twilight.
Scampering through fields of wildflowers, her long hair flowing behind her,  a sunset from the heavens shimmered rays of tired heaviness and tranquility.
Satisfied and full we fell into restful slumber, my ancestors calling to me with their siren song....
"It's all here.  We're just waiting for you."

Awaking to the choke hold of reality and pining for the next ticket out.....
Dreaming will never be enough.  And so I set my intention.