what if you fly

July slipped through my hands much like water rushes through our fingers. It was impossible to catch it or collect it in an attempt slow the process. All one could do was watch the memories fuse together meshing into a kaleidoscope of laughter, smiles and beer stained afternoons.

A weekend in Arrowhead spent with some of my oldest and most beautiful friends was spent gliding across a glistening lake while water rushed up to slap our sun drenched skin. Late afternoons were spent in inflatables while my Mom and I jetted across the pool until I was wisked to Chicago where I met Teresa and we claimed that town as our own. We even rung the bell the prove it. Lauren and I wound or way through sleepy fish towns, lavender fields and Autumn-like days while sipping strawberry wine. Laughing and singing or high school melodies as the miles passed us by draped in rain.

Mom and I twisted our way up the fog cloaked cliffs of the Pacific Coast Highway where we fell in love with Point Lobos, wrote in the purple sand of Pfiffer Beach, stood above Juila Pfiffer Falls and nearly melted on the valley view trail in Big Sur. The central coast left us awestruck with it’s succulent speckled cliffs, moody sapphire-emerald seas and it’s bridges that hug the coast ever so perfectly framing mother nature in a way that steals the breath from your lungs.

I had time to gather with family around the firepit and steal another bicycle ride with my Dad in Huntington. Family gathered around Dad’s BBQing the night before I took off toasting beers and laughing in unison. It wasn’t long after I lay my head to sleep and my mind began racing with thoughts what if you fail, are you ready to be so intensely alone, you’re afraid, this is real, what if I fall? Then ever so softly I would hear a whispered lullaby silencing every worry with oh but darling, what if you fly…


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