just an escape...

you’ll find her in a rambling old house, not too big, not too small, built of sandstone in nineteen hundred and four. it’s a house with scented floors that gently creak their welcome and keep you company as you pass through the rooms. here the walls are thick and solid to the touch, in shades of red wine and the green of the trees through the windows, these are wall that protect and that guard the secrets of the whispered words shared in their space. and as you wander through this warm, gentle home, your eyes will catch glints of crystal and silver amongst candles on scattered silk sheets of gold.

when the sun bows its head and the rays of the moon douse the earth, the scent of sweet jasmine tags along the night breeze through windows with gently billowing curtains. some nights all you’ll hear is the crackling of a fire to the turning of the pages of a book. she’ll be curled up in a huge wingback chair alongside the fireplace, whilst the soft snores of puppy dreams float in the air. and on other nights you will hear the strings of guitars telling of nights in paris or a love that’s been lost. these will mingle with cheerful chatter and the tingling of ice in glasses, almost the same pitch as the laughter that rings through the night. you may also be enticed by the scent of a meal, a simple feast, that inflames the senses to savour, to take your time and enjoy. and when the last stings of the guitar fade silently into the night, she will walk through the house and with a tender touch, arrange and close and blow out and store, as she puts her house to sleep…

in the morning she’ll rise to the rays from the east, freeing the pups into a forest of fragrant pines, into air so fresh, so pure and untouched, almost tangible as she deeply breathes it in. she will stretch her limbs awake through grassy and ferny trails to the songs of birds in treetops high. she may spot a deer at the gently bubbling brook that snakes its way though the gentle curves of the mountainside, or she may be the only one there.

her days have an unrushed list of to-do’s, she will follow the nudges of need. she’ll hum as the broom clears the dust off floorboards and she’ll talk to her furry friends while she drinks a cup of tea. she’ll feel the breath of fresh air through the open window at the sink, while the suds wash away the dirt. and in welcoming sunshine dappled through the trees, she’ll shape the garden that naturally grows, the blooms the ones nature placed in her care.

a scattering of faces may arrive unannounced, and be welcomed with barks and swishing tails, to depart further into their day after coffee or iced tea, sharing a thought, an opinion or two. she may call her pups and head down the road, not far, to the settlement down below. there she will fill her basket with fresh fruit, with cheeses, a bread or two. she will greet the shopkeepers by name, exchange a smile and a few words, pretending not to see the treats that are sneaked to the grinning faces with chocolate brown eyes.

it’s a place of few demands, filled with simplistic honesty and a solitude she desperately craves. here the need to speak disappears, and where thoughts and feelings reign. it's a place to build, re-charge and create, a temporary refuge, as it fuels the drive for words she writes late into the night. it’s a part of the world, not her own, yet it feels like home. the words that are spoken convey their meaning, though they may not sound familiar. it may not exist by the name that she calls it, but it surely is alive somewhere…

picture: http://theymakestars.deviantart.com/art/nature-44364242