Something I should do more but don’t is free write to music. For me, this means putting a playlist or my entire iPod on shuffle and writing through a series of songs, stopping when the song changes. It’s good for quick bursts and kind of stirs up my mind a bit. I don’t stop for spelling and sometimes, it turns out as nothing but incomplete sentences. Here is one in particular that I just re-read and kind of liked.
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Song: Crush
Artist: Dave Matthews Band
Nothing smells as good as cold mountain air. Smelling it on your skin, in your hair, adhered to every fabric of your being, drives me crazy. We are bundled from head to toe to protect us from the sharp chill of night but I know that under these layers our bodies are well aware. Nothing could mask your body’s presence. We huddle together as close to the fire as we dare, marshmallows on sticks, broken graham crackers and candy bars at our sides. An empty bottle of wine and the joint we’ve yet to light. We’re both a little too scared of this abandonment. When did we become these people? When did we begin to taste the shadows and forbidden pleasures? Your marshmallow catches fire and giggling, we blow it out and in some sort of scandalously sexual display, you eat the thing off the end of the stick. Strange how turned on I am, strange how badly I want to discard these heavy winter clothes and feel your cold skin against mine, feel the dirt and rocks and leaves and sticks dig into my back and thighs. Who are you and what have you done with the real me?
A weekend of abandon, you told me. A weekend in the mountains, a weekend with the clean air and sparkling lake and the smell of pine trees. Intoxicating radiance, I remember thinking. Earlier in the night we watched the sun disappear behind the mountain knowing that the darkness fell a little earlier here than it did hundreds of feet above us. I am suddenly bored with roasting marshmallows and getting drunk beside the fire. I want to drag you and your abandon back into the cabin and demonstrate how long I’ve been longing for a moment like this. A moment full of cold air and wood smoke and wine and your mouth, your body, your every molecule. A kiss. An open mouth kiss, soft tongues and lips, and your hands. My hands. Quiet moans, just us, just the two of us and these giant mountains trying to peek in the windows. Abandon.
