coffeelove

I flip the pages back and forth, palm trees, monkeys, her turqoise eyes looking at me,
a red bandana, a blue ocean, digging my toes deep into the sand, away from the heated top layer down to the cool wet sand.
The smell of diesel mixed with the scent of a heated tarmac, how that first wave of air outside the plane takes my breath away, lungs that have inhaled the crisp cold air of the Arctic for too long, adjusting, acknowledging.

Taxi rides, limousines, tuk-tuks, an overcrowded bus, pressing my nose against the windows, eyes wide at unfamiliar sights, unfamiliar smells but despite my nervousness I still feel at ease, at home.
The red dirt in India made the jungle look like a dry dead desert as we drove through it, somewhere in Thailand we hid from the rest and went swimming under a full moon, there was a girl and a boy, the boy watched.

I want to see the sun rise at Xingping, the limestone mountains a great backdrop, three lamps casting a dim light on the Li River.
L.A. Cuba. South Africa. Aruba.
The less time I have the more I want to go, right now. But I have no time to spend at all save the little I use to dream of these places.
Some years from now I may have time.

But for now, a garden in Denmark isn't so bad.