It has been a little while now since I moved into my little cabin* up here on my little hill. It is tiny and pretty and I love it.
I love the home I have created, mostly because I love the environment in which it allows me to live.
I love being wrapped in the stars at night. I love watching the birds go about their business as if I am a normal part of it. I love the trees silently standing guard over my days.
The pace here is in time with the beat of my spirit. The days wait for me to be ready to start them.
I do not want to paint it a completely secluded paradise – I have neighbours beside and behind me, plus the caravan park you can see in the picture above. At night I can hear my neighbour’s dogs scratching around in their kennel on the other side of the fence, the man across the lane likes to light fires in his backyard at all hours and depending which way the wind blows I can hear the trucks pass through town down on the highway.
But amongst all that I am generally left to myself. And when I slipped and fell a few weeks ago and broke my foot, someone was here within five minutes to help me. Total isolation is a bit overrated I think.
I am often surprised that I have managed to create this home for myself – it spent such a long time being a weird dream that I had started but not managed finished. Now I appreciate every day that I wake up here, and every night tucked up quietly in my bed.
*Let’s call it a cabin, that’s what it feels like.