Musings from a writer's journal
I’d like to live in a cottage, in a dense, rich green wood;
nestled safely from the vulgarity of modern life, with gardens all around it, in a place where winter is not welcome, where fruits and flowers grow year-round.
A sanctuary within as well as without.
With Joni Mitchell meanderings, for reflection and strength;
with Janis to croon for the melancholy moments in my head, in my soul.
Out of the world, out of the view of trends and expectations.
In my cottage I would read for research, then write my novels, and perhaps send them out into the world.
I would garden every day.
I would stand in the flowers and soak the sun into my being.
I would be.
The heart of my cottage would be my eclectic, bohemian studio, busy with color and creation, where I’d paint all the beautiful scenes that wrack my mind.
I could be alone…
but never lonely; not with worlds at my fingertips and the sun every day, at least when there is no rain.
But rain would be all right with me, nourishing my gardens, nourishing my soul.
I would listen to the natural world from a covered porch and recognize the song that is life.
I would keep comfort in music and company in my dreams.
From a cottage in the “city” of Great Falls, Montana, snowed in by winter among very few trees, and many more people, I dream of my cottage in the woods.