Jade yawn before the journey

Off for a week to lovely Plockton. Looks like rain, wind. I asked for drama and that's what I've got, in buckets.
I'm lonely. No doubt. I'm missing the people I really know and adore. I just wish I could sit down with someone and let the words dance between us. Especially if the conversation was about nothing very practical. I'm so tired of small talk, of pretending to build something I'm not. I want words that describe blackberries and the various uses for rose hips. (Lemons. I'm strangely obsessed with the thought of lemons. Spikeacidsweettartmystery). Or when life has shifted just enough and suddenly before it's even really spring, here is summer, hiding under a thin layer of time. Everything here is so desperate to pop, but keeps holding off because of the chill that the rain is bringing. I expect that by the time we get back, the buds on the trees near the train platform will have begun to unravel, revealing green feathery explosions like animals that are all mouth. A silk olive/emerald/jade roar.
Time to go.