i don't bake cookies. i bake mud pies

prick me with a pin
so I can fly about
aimlessly
releasing my contents
carelessly
control, purged
free from me

then
I'll
r
u
n on empty

most days i want to be four again.  not consistently.  but there is usually a moment or two when my desire to navigate the day in a dreamy, free-spirited way comes to the forefront of my mind.  four was my favorite age.  i have vivid memories of that time.  the time before i really went to school.  when i had a doll named mary who i blamed for all wrong doings.  when my culinary genius took the form of precisely concocted mud pies complete with ingredients of the creepy crawly variety.

when i was four i lived in a world intertwined between reality and fantasy.  i truly believed i could hover.  i was introduced to this ability through a series of reoccurring dreams.  i would be in my front yard playing.  suddenly i would jump and float through the air and land softly.  those dreams translated into my reality as i practiced this ability while playing alone.  i don't remember trying to convince anyone of my ability to hover.  i don't think i cared much whether anyone else knew i could do it.  except maybe for heather (our fox wire terrier) but she was always with me while i played so she did not require convincing.

today while i was playing in the dirt i reached up to brush a tangle of hair from my eyes.  in the process i smeared dirt across my cheek.  later i looked in the mirror and saw my four year old self looking back.  the same disheveled hair falling in my face.  the same perpetual smudge of dirt across the cheek.  the same dirt caked fingernails and hands.  and i smiled.  because even though i'm not chronologically four, i am fairly certain i am spiritually four.