In this cold place.

We have summer in this cold place and will have summer long enough, I believe this now. I live so very high up on the top floor of a building that follows the sun from window to window. I would often dream about having a travel trailer. I would follow the sun, staying just on approach of the melt. I would slow down if I saw the fall and speed up if I got caught, long in spring. I would pray for snow everyday, large, sloppy snowflakes and watch from a huge, lazy stay in front a wide grin, of course. I could fall in and out of sleep all day, my biggest struggle would be to finish reading Victoria and Veranda magazines. I love vintage cloth, berry jam scones, with pastel Peonies dropping sugared petals by the tray. Little mouthed, fat bottomed bottles of ink and dripping, dipping styles to write on old parchment rolls. I would like that place.