Wander-lust

Sometimes, I get the wander-lust...

My mom says we must have gypsy blood in us.  She has it too.

I am not certain if it’s a blessing or a curse.  On one hand it allows you to be content and see beauty where ever you are.  On the other hand it makes your blood fairly sing to move on and see new places...

You begin to dream of far-off lands, haunted by memories of sights, smells, and sounds that you have never known but are somehow graven in your soul...

Then it seeps into your waking hours.  The sound of a train, or plane, or even the sight of a busy highway, or a winding road fills you with a longing that makes you tremble with desire to go where they lead....

The sight of mountains raising their lofty heads, playing catch with puffy white clouds, brings swift jolts of jealous hunger that you are barely able to control. 

When storms blow through and sweep the air pure so that distant valleys are laid out like a great patchwork quilt your feet begin to shift towards doors, hearing the call to explore...

Unseen waves ceaselessly beat a silent cadence that you can hear and feel with every beat of your heart, stealing your breath with the scent of salt and causing shivers to roll through your skin with the ghostlike touch of mist...

Your soul is filled with the sensations of wind whistling through the needles of spruce trees and you can’t escape the scent of deep forests...

How do you escape the very essence of who you are?  How do you find peace when every particle of yourself is bound by this call that lends you the strength to move and carry on every day?

Your body jumps with the thought of moving on, like with the memory of your lovers lips on your skin.  And when the wander-lust passes, you are left trembling and shaking, breathless and bereft.

The feel of silky hair, sweet warm cheeks, chubby hands, and the sound of pure joy splintered into laughter are more effective anchors than any rope or chain.

So for now, while your body trembles, your soul shakes, and your eyes ceaselessly seek out the horizon, you must stand still as the shadows of far flung clouds roll over you and pass on to where you ache to be.

And you think..."Sometimes...I get the wander-lust..."