Moments

I want to capture the moments.

All of the ones that matter.

I want the burnt image of sparklers at dusk, twirling in senseless shapes.

I want the falling leaves, caught on the autumn breeze, as I crunch along the evening-darkened trail.

I want the foggy days of persistent gloom, when raindrops tap against windowpanes and sound is muted against their rhythm.

I want the beach at sunset, red-rimmed horizon and the sun dipping low.

I want loons in the morning, calling out across the lake and catching themselves in the reeds.

I want mountains of fresh snow glittering in streetlamps and icicles clinging to naked branches.

I want the sun peeking through the leaves and reminding the birds to sing.

I want headlights and flashing neon signs as the weekend brings forth life.

I want empty trails winding on mountainsides, trepidation increasing with altitude.

I want twinkling stars over hidden lakes, brightening the universe in harmony with the moon.

I want crackling fires and golden marshmallows against a twangy acoustic backdrop.

I want mist in the streets, hugging my waist and blurring streetlamps as the puddles double the world.

I want pillows in pick-up trucks lined with faerie lights as the giant screen previews a classic.

I want leather-bound covers over yellowing pages tucked into old oak shelves, each one worn from reading, emitting the smell of time.

I want fresh snow delicate on the windowsill, coaxing the fireplace to crackle and let the dancing flames warm the room inside.

I want board games at the end of the week and laughter at meaningless competition.

I want colourful skies over mountain ranges, witnessed across the way from an open hillside.

I want to watch the world whizz by on a train to nowhere, civilization and solitude taking turns outside the window.

I want balcony views of the evergreen forest, telltale signs of life echoing to meet my eardrums.

I want silence at midnight, darkness as warm as bedcovers while the world breathes deeply.

I want thunderstorms by candlelight, every flash and flicker remembered for its brilliance.

I want gravel moving under worn shoes, destinations marked at the trailhead and reached in sweat-soaked exuberance.

I want scarves, hats, gloves, hot chocolate in travel mugs, sitting curbside and watching Santa wave from the parade’s final float.

I want to sit with the endless ocean, blue in my vision from water and sky, my perch well-worn by years of the tide.

I want to meander down cobblestone streets, the humble homes containing mysteries behind their front doors.

I want sleeping bags on rocky ground and canvas for a rooftop, the tent zipper enclosing people in and wildlife out.

I want to write on park benches, wind rustling white pages and floating red maple leaves down to greet me, the sweet smell of decay and apple cider all around.

I want coffee at dawn, wrapped in a blanket while the world wakes and headlights begin to flicker on.

I want to get lost in the music, old friends frequenting even older couches, acoustic guitars and raspy voices attempting a nostalgic melody.

I want to breathe in the candle scent burning at the holy entrance and reminding to hush in this prayerful place.

I want laughter at 1 am with no regard for the activities of tomorrow.

I want silence on the water and a paddle in hand, moving down the lazy river with dewdrops in my hair.

I want the glow around a vanity mirror, lipstick lined up in correct shade order and my reflection a blank canvas for an artist.

I want the “clack” of the sidewalk under my shoes as earbuds blast a classic in time to my gait.

I want to snuggle at 2 in the afternoon.

I want photographs lining plain walls, a time capsule viewed with dusty morning light.

I want long journeys and faraway destinations, reaching them with relief and realizing what I learned along the way.

I want a reminder every day that where I am is exactly where I should be.

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