A tiny blue, yellow and black ball of feathers hops from branch to branch of the rowan tree, before my window
A small miracle, right in front of my eyes - like a special message to tell me that, yes, the time is right for me to start writing. Now I'm snug in bed again, under the duvet with my new notebook and pen, listening to the Cumbrian rain on my roof. Cup of coffee to my elbow to warm my hands on this chilly morning as I start the first of the morning pages. Bodhipaksa said, 'ten minutes, no stopping - write first, evaluate afterwards - if you don't get them in that order you won't write'.Enclosed by wood - you'd think that wood walls and ceiling would be dark, but it isn't so. The wood has glowing light and life to it. I love this lodge and was totally resistant when the park owners suggested we 'upgrade' to a new one which would look more like a city centre loft flat - all formica and stainless steel!. This is much more simpatico, much more my style.
And it reminds me of living on the 'Mulroy', beautiful Victorian yacht that I was on for seven years. Reminds me of sitting of an evening in the lamplight, with the hanging plants in the overhead hatch slowly swaying as we moved gently when the tide was in. It always felt like some spacecraft, not by looks but by the feeling of being separate from the rst of humanity. A solitariness that I found comforting. Reclining on the velvet cushions, reading or listening to music. A feeling of great contentment - some of the happiest days of my life.
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