Nomad. Described as a person who does not stay long in the same place; a wanderer - though much less cringe. Rooted by different versions of insanity year long, December sees us all becoming the overly-excited, bohemian/wanderlust type. It's inevitable. We crave the sun, like the people we've missed. We're as predictable as we are impulsive.
We forget that rain ever existed. That days could be and once were more stressful. You'll find us packing picnic baskets on days that whisk the sky into a blue masquerade. As with every summer, shoes will become optional, no shoes: socially acceptable. We'll wear anything that comforts. Run with the energy we discover between grains of sand and salt. Red patches on our face, creases on our skin. We'll apologise for sleeping under a tinting star.
This summer, we'll grow younger. We'll fall into culottes, sit bucket hats on our heads, with the ease of our primary school days. We'll celebrate them for being so awkward. Me, I'll refuse to wear anything else. We might fall in love, we might find ourselves. But we probably won't. We'll spend another summer laughing or swimming or talking amongst new places instead. For nomads, this is just as good. In fact, it's what we thrive on during December until February every year.
Check out Glassons edt. #4 release available here, or in store now (it's selling out fast).
McKenzie xx