Intimate. When there are hundreds people around me and I see none of them. I’m searching for loneliness. Not the type of loneliness when breaking up with a loved one and eating a bowl of ice cream by yourself while watching Lifetime movies. That loneliness never helps anyone, unless you’re anorexic. The loneliness I’m talking about is the people look for. It’s when you have so much on your mind and need to get away from it. It’s when you have 8 kids, and they’re all under the age of 5. The loneliness I’m looking for is something people need, but hate asking: space.
It smells like spring. It feels like spring. I’m a little overheated from the walk here. This is the first day of this year where a jacket isn’t necessary. I’m waiting to see all the animals run around to search for a mate. I can’t help to think of Bambi. Love is in the air. Those male chipmunks are going to get some.
Then I realize something. The birds aren’t chirping. Kids aren’t playing Frisbee. People are still wearing coats. Chipmunks aren’t getting any.
It happens every winter. One day where it hits 50 degrees after being in single digits just last week. The groundhog did predict spring was going soon. He is usually right half of the time. The ground is making splashes. I have to step slowly if I don’t want any of the mud sticking on my jeans. Oh, darn too late.
I’m sure during the summertime this place is crowded. This might be the only chance I have to actually enjoy this place without worrying about frostbite. It’s times like these I wish I was a poet. I’ve read other people’s blogs and they’re putting up a stanza here, a couple of lines there. I’m sure if they were in my spot, they can write how wonderful it feels to be alone in this place.
I can’t. I never got poems. Probably never will. I can tell you a poem right now would be perfect to describe the feeling I have. The first line would probably set up the location. Something like, “And the sky was blue, something I wasn’t used to seeing
That line doesn’t work. The sky was blue. The grass wasn’t green. It was brown and watery. It’s not spring. Today was a deceptive day. I know tomorrow will be muggy, maybe a chance of rain. The weather is deceptive, but I don’t care. It makes me happy that I’m alone.
However the poem wouldn’t make sense if I started out with something positive. It’s not positive whatsoever. And I thought this poem was about loneliness, but the different kind of loneliness. How about the actual place? When does that come in? That’s why I have problems with poems. I just don’t know where things should go.
At least I know what the last line of my poem would be. Something with chipmunks.