Window Light
The guts of the cabin are portraits of our families, books we have read and not read and shared together, paintings done by creative friends and lovers, and a bird shrine of miniatures, oils, empty wine casks and tapestries. Similar to the insides of our own hearts, the windows into the cabin bring crucial light which forges an atmosphere conducive to napping, loving, cooking, laughing, sleeping, and holding many things dear. With the shades drawn we 
often sleep until two pm, not knowing how late it is until we wake to semis roaring past to the north, and the parrot squawking to our right, which sounds like chatter to the undiscerned ear but really means "where's my fruit ball and I have to poop!" Anyway, I bought a variegated vine to liven up the drabness of plywood which is mystical mostly but can become heavy when I am surrounded by it for long periods. It hangs by the window adjacent to the bed, which is connected to the living-room which has two large windows which let in minimal sunlight. The kitchen is the darkest room of the house, but we brighten it with dancing barefoot and inviting guests until late in the night when the sun has set but the overhead light still burns with shadows of spades and crazy eights. The blame for all this shade is the oak tangle looming above the cabin, housing hawks and vultures alike. Rosie likes to sit on the window panes and jabber on about the weather, and like her caretakers she loves a good westerly breeze.
The guts of the cabin are portraits of our families, books we have read and not read and shared together, paintings done by creative friends and lovers, and a bird shrine of miniatures, oils, empty wine casks and tapestries. Similar to the insides of our own hearts, the windows into the cabin bring crucial light which forges an atmosphere conducive to napping, loving, cooking, laughing, sleeping, and holding many things dear. With the shades drawn we 
often sleep until two pm, not knowing how late it is until we wake to semis roaring past to the north, and the parrot squawking to our right, which sounds like chatter to the undiscerned ear but really means "where's my fruit ball and I have to poop!" Anyway, I bought a variegated vine to liven up the drabness of plywood which is mystical mostly but can become heavy when I am surrounded by it for long periods. It hangs by the window adjacent to the bed, which is connected to the living-room which has two large windows which let in minimal sunlight. The kitchen is the darkest room of the house, but we brighten it with dancing barefoot and inviting guests until late in the night when the sun has set but the overhead light still burns with shadows of spades and crazy eights. The blame for all this shade is the oak tangle looming above the cabin, housing hawks and vultures alike. Rosie likes to sit on the window panes and jabber on about the weather, and like her caretakers she loves a good westerly breeze. 
This is sweet, makes me miss it. Good prose young lass.
ReplyDelete