 |
| is it ok, too indulgent? |
I love this house.
Each room offers me something – I guess
that’s normal – but each also invites me to stop and sit.
The kitchen gives me a choice – at the
table, where so much has been said…
Or - by the window.
No one speaks there, you watch.
Watch the meadow; watch the deer that cross
and dawdle.
Watch the west winter sun rest on the oak
leaves of the eastern hill.
This room - books behind me, games beside;
a fire where logs are settling in for the night and the pile of vinyl that I’m
listening to.
It's where you were born.
Leonard Cohen’s latest right now.
Nevermind.
This is the cat’s favourite room.
In wintertime.
It’s five, the light is fading. He sits on
my lap, he want’s feeding.
So – back to the kitchen.
Though, really I want to go and sit at the
desk, up those stairs and through the wall that once was.
It’s my favourite.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment