It is a drizzly, gray, November morning. The chickens probably won't get out today, they despise the rain. It would be nice to call off the day because of the rain, to declare the day one of staying inside with the comforts of home, warmth, quiet.
I'm reading a book, Escaping Into The Open: The Art of Writing True. Reading about writing has been a source of great pleasure recently as I have found that these writers wrap words around the aching need I have in my soul, the insistent call to transfer what's inside, out.
My favorite book, The Book Thief, inspires me in this way. It is such a beautiful, haunting story. I just watched the movie that this book inspired and it brought back, in waves, the emotions the book had evoked. I find that I am at a loss to try to describe what this book is to me and maybe that is why it is so powerful. It speaks my words, the words hidden in my heart, and as I read I am all at once bolstered and made vulnerable.
I mentioned recently that we had some work done around our place, namely, a new roof, gutters, and the removal of a tree. Our little place is not extravagant by any means. It is simple, much like us, but it is ours. In my heart of hearts I entertain the idea of having a little farm complete with a barn. But here, on our little plot in town, I will make it what I can. I'll grow food and keep chickens. I will collect rainwater for the garden. I will cultivate flowers for the sole purpose of enjoying their colors.
Here are the before and after pictures of the recent work:
Our home, the day we got the keys: August, 2013
And 14 months later, after the new roof and gutters (yes, the lamp is crooked):
And the empty space on the right where the big tree used to be:
Happy rainy Tuesday!