My House in the Country

Anyone who knows me, knows I would love to live in the country. On days when my longing to live away from the city overwhelms me I write my characters into their country lives. I set them in the house of my dreams and let them loose in the grounds of their estate to breathe in the country air. I let them walk long driveways, flanked with trees where they are suddenly surprised by pheasant walking nonchalantly in their path, or peacock tails fanning the air. They go indoors then and sit watching the sway of the trees or the busyness of the bees in the honeysuckle. It’s what gives my writing days their fun and spirit. A day away in the country. Below is my poem of my dream country house. Someday.

My House

The house would be made of

Battered walls and green moss

Beneath its eaves the Swifts would nest

And rest in solitude among the broken tiles and,

Just outside, a foot or two beyond the rustic fence—

Wild meadows with Blue-bells,Teasel and Forget-Me-Nots

So dense I could barely see the sea.

And me?

I’d sit and watch it stretch out before me

All day long. Then rise

And walk and rest and write

And just Be.

Et.

Photo: Courtesy of Irish Wild Flowers site.

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