in may, i usually think i should be in england. maybe it’s the humidity. maybe it’s the rain. maybe it’s this itch that seems to surface in spring, that thinks by the time the hyacinth have bloomed, i should be on the move again.

in michigan the leaves are green and heavy with rain and the cement is wet beyond wet: waterlogged. henry and i sat on the back stoop feeling the ricochet of drops off the pavement, laughing. and i started cataloging all the places i would transport myself to, if i could. tennyson downs. bogglehole. canterbury cathedral. tintagel. bath. london. london. london. dover. edinburgh. stonehenge. scafell pike. ben lomond. london.

what are the places you think of twinkling yourself to when things seem soggy?