Fiction Friday: On Roots and Wings

I hated it when she left the radio set to the country station.  The twanging chords made my head hurt.

Spent all my life trying to get away... Trouble is, now I don’t know how to stay.

I snapped the radio off and laid back in the grass again. Who needed the radio anyway, on such a beautiful day? The wind shepherded clouds across a bright sky, and the trees rustled in the sunshine.

I love it here. I hate it here.  I like days like this, when I can just lounge in a bed of clover and think about nothing at all. I watched the clouds and daydreamed.

I was tired of daydreaming about that trip to Europe I was going to take someday. My mind skittered over my tiny studio apartment in Manhattan where I’d someday plant a windowbox herb garden in order to feel like I had a tiny piece of nature.  I thought about how one day, I’d be free to live wherever I wanted to. I could live in a big city and see plays whenever I wanted. I could visit art museums.  I could ride the subway and think it was normal, an everyday thing.  I could walk between the canyons created out of steel and glass and not gawk and the silhouettes of buildings against the sky.

One of these days, I would do all of these things. I would go backpacking. I would go skydiving. I would drive wherever my car pointed and see where I ended up.

I daydreamed about taking flight, with my head nestled in the dandelions and myrtle. I didn’t feel the roots slipping out of my head and sinking in the ground … until it was already too late.

English: Radio City Music Hall in Manhattan, N...

English: Radio City Music Hall in Manhattan, New York City. September 2005. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

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