Hey, butterfly.



Hey, summer storms. Hey, bike path. Hey, afternoon walks. Hey, floral tank tops and breezy skirts. Hey, baseball games. Hey, campfire smell and potential tan. Hey, kids on that trampoline. Hey, windows down. Hey, roadtrip plans, pollen count, spiderwebs. Hey, yellow flowers blooming in the alley.

In 10 years.

I want to take someone to all the places I grew up  — where I drank maple syrup straight from a maple tree, where I lay in bed all day reading books about horses, where my dog got so sick I thought she would die, where I canoed under that waterfall in Canada with Grandpa, where I went to my first concert, where I knew Spanish, where I learned red wine drunk and flannel sheets make the best combination.

And ideally, I’ll be writing about music full time. Ladies and gentlemen, Woodpigeon: