What I Want

I want to go on a hike.
Alone.
I want to find myself
in a secluded meadow
where I can lie down
and enjoy the wildflower-soaked breeze.
I want to think thoughts
that the noise of the city
cannot drown out.
I want to sit up
and open my backpack
and retrieve a pad of paper
and a pencil.
I love pencils more than pens.
Pencils are much more reliable than pens.
And I can always
correct my mistakes
by simply erasing.
With pen, I scratch out mistakes
and they become more ugly than they started out.
I want to sit in that meadow,
listening to the wind
wander through the trees,
and imagine what I’d write in my notebook.
I’d write nothing,
but I’d think about what I’d write
if I were to write anything.
I’d allow my thoughts
to fill up the blank, white spaces of the world,
only to look down
and see a blank page.