I wait for broken sunsets and broken smiles to take me home. I wait for colors to fight each other on the darkened horizon. I wait for the cool of evening when the world is bathed in shadow. I wait for a moment alone.

Despite spending most of my last month living under the stars, only a few nights have I taken the time to just look up.

That's all I desire, is to just take the time and look up. Recently I have rarely taken any time for myself, at least that is how it feels.

I feel that pull to be somewhere else the most at night, when everything is dark and asking to be explored. I want to visit more places, do more things, but when the sun is in the sky, I am drawn to doing things that are fun in the moment. After a time those momentary pleasures make me miss those things I love to do, live to do.

I wait for night so I can feel the lull of creativity wrap me in cool shadow, to listen to the clatter of my keyboard string soft words into hard phrases. Of late those moments rarely come.

Of late the creative in me has been sleeping, spun into dormancy by the sun and cheap beer.

More and more I desire to go out and do more again, escape again, feel the thrill of seeing new places again. Be me again. Not that the moments in my life are not enjoyable, just after I feel less like myself. Sometimes they leave a bitter taste in my mouth, not because they aren't enjoyable, but because I don't take care of myself in the process.

I crave for days I can ramble in a notebook beneath trees of green and gold, where the noise of the creek beside me is loud enough to drown out the scratching of my pen.

I wait for days I can walk beneath mountains and cool my feet in alpine lakes. I wait for sunrise summits and sunlight magic. I wait for waterfalls thundering down about my shoulders. I wait for afternoons watching clouds change shapes in the vast blue above.

Most of all, I wait for night, when the dreams of these places lure me back to sleep.