I got a weak spot for hammocks ... I'm so going to own this one someday.
Last spring, I said: "Without fail, whenever this time of the year comes, this quick snapshot comes to mind. I’d see myself being outside on a perfect spring afternoon, sitting on my hammock following the rhythm of the light breeze, a faint aroma of honeysuckle and supper filling the air. There was I: innocent, barefooted, and age seventeen. Lighthearted and simply happy. I’d be either reading or writing which was all I wanted to do."
