Want

I want ice cold fanta orange pop in the bottle.

I want Juicy Fruit. I want to ride my bike down the FlyAsh road. I want to play house in that grove of pine up on the hill.

I want to climb the apple tree. I want to play hide and seek in the root cellar.

I want to be nine years old again.

I want to pop balsam bark pitch blisters with a stick, set it afloat in the creek and watch it flame.

I want to play kick the can in the dark. I want to run down the worn wooden front steps, down the dirt path and over the old wood bridge, even further, where the swing hangs from that big old birch and when I push off with a running leap I swing out over the ravine, my stomach drops and it is the best feeling *ever*.

I want to climb the ladder to the loft. I want to tell secrets to my best friend. I want to eat thick slabs of homemade whole grain bread with butter.

I want to sit on the porch rail with my best friend and watch her sister flirt with my brother. I want to sneak down to the sawmill and play softball. I want to sit in the field and eat wild strawberries until my lips, tongue and fingers are stained red.

I want to press my ear to the railroad track and "listen" for trains. I want to lie on my back in the blueberry bushes and watch dragonflies. I want ice cream, cold and sweet and drippy, melting faster than I can eat it.

I want my mom to make me tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I my brothers to let me tag along on an adventure to find Bigfoot. I want to be knee-deep in the water, catching sucker fish with my bare hands. I want my sister to read outloud to me.

I want my mother showing me how to sew. I want to ride in the backseat with my bestfriend and make faces at the boys in the van behind us.

I want to wear my pink and white striped dress. I want to go barefoot in the garden and pick peas. I want a fresh stalk of rubarb dipped in sugar to eat.

What do you want?