I remember living in the land of summer, the days lingered long by the oceanside. I was driving down the palm tree populated freeways and they nodded hello. Always something warm on my mind in my hands in my eyes the golden rosy sunlight rising on my dreams every morning. And you think dreams come true, say they do, say they do. And you really have to be naïve to believe in paradise, it resides in the view and beauty only, and that was what I saw, forever obsessed with beauty.
Take me back there and hand me a lychee martini. Take me back there or I have to leave alone. Nobody else is in love with botanical gardens anyway. Naming the names of each healing plant and knowing the stars of Southern Hemisphere by heart. Its complicated constellation of nature and culture.
Yes, my heart's ways.
They always go back and follow the same traces.
I still want to sleep in an acacia leaf deep in Africa, under the stellar delusion that it is never going to end. That summer. This land of summer. Its imprint on the constellation of my complicated prairie bushveld soul, in the land where the soul food bar is always open.
The longing is long to erase.
text and image by ann marie simard
Posted by Ann Marie Simard