HANG

I want a hammock.  Only I don't want it on some tropical beach with sunshine and sand.  I don't even care if it's "warm".  I'm comfy in my jeans and a hoodie.  So, let's put that hammock somewhere in the middle of the orchard at Big Dan's U-Pick Em here in Hartford, maybe in early May, when the air is just warm enough and there is a slight breeze to sway me back and forth.  I think a nap would be inevitable.
I want a tire swing.  I want it out far enough on a limb that I don't have to worry about hitting the trunk of the tree it hangs from.  I want to spin and twirl and laugh the afternoon away just swaying.
I want to sit on the dock over at Forest Beach and let my feet hang off into the water.  I want to watch kids jump in and splash.  I want to jump in myself.
I love watching bags full of candy sway back and forth and round and round in the hands of little Buzz Lightyears and Cinderellas every Halloween. 
I can't wait until Christmas, when I can let Landon help me hang the ornaments on the tree and explain where they came from and what they represent.  I can't wait for Hanson to pull them all down.
I love wearing earrings...partly because they are cute and fun, but also because I like how it feels to have something with weight hanging by my cheek and neck.
I'm captivated by mistletoe, wind chimes, bats, traffic lights, pinatas, apples still on the tree, and those weights in the produce department at Harding's.
I'm obsessed with things that hang.
They are amazing, really.  Completely affixed to a certain point yet still able to move about freely when a breeze comes up or some force pushes or pulls. 
I like this idea.  That I can have an anchor to the sky but fly everywhere on a whim.
I want to hang.