I'm making jam at 8:30 in the morning,
a humid, rainy morning.
I wonder if this isn't Vermont,
and instead, everyone's been fooling me;
I must be in Florida.
I look over my shoulder and
see a hummingbird drinking from that fake red flower we put up
and worry if the fox is near the chickens,
who cluck blissfully in their pen.
I wonder if next year I'll be New York City,
grabbing coffee in a crowded bakery with steamy windows.
Or taking a stroll around the quiet streets of Santa Barbara,
my hair getting lighter the longer I stay in the sun.
Or watching the leaves slowly turn gold,
as I take a bus into Boston for an escape of theater and gardens.
Or maybe I'll be in Colorado,
skiing...which I haven't done in years.
I could be anywhere.
It's an exciting time to be alive, isn't it?