I sit here on a bench, in my beautiful "quiet place" I have left my phone, my facebook...anything that would take my attention...I have left behind. I really don't know where they are right now. The last I remember they were in the pickup and my husband has taken that somewhere. I can honestly say, "I don't care." Right now my mind, my very being, needs to find complete quietness.
The place where I am seems like a little room. Its walls are a row of ceders cutting me away from life's stresses. I can't see what is going on at the house, the other out buildings, the road. I'm here alone, just me, my paper, my pen.
The ceiling of my "little room" is the sky. I can look up and up and up, through the branches of those trees, up into nothing. Right now the sky is covered with a light skim of clouds. Not stormy, just enough to hide the sun. I set here on my bench looking up and I picture that same sky, dark and millions of stars are looking down at me. Smiling at me.
I have a huge "picture window" in my "little room". It covers the whole north side of the room. I put it there because looking out it I see nothing but emptiness. I do not have a curtain on it. I want it completely open. I want to be able to sit here on my bench and look out onto the rolling grasses there in the pasture. I want to be able to follow the dry creek bed with my eyes as it twist and turns its way out into nothingness, through the tall grasses, among those trees. I want to see the old barb wire fence held up by old hedge post, some standing straight, some loose only held there by a wire.
Over on the west wall of my "little room" I have a window. It's not covered with a curtain either, but outside it stands quite a few small trees. I like it that way really, because have you ever watched the sun set through the trees? Or watched sunlight float down in a golden stream, down among the leaves turning them a beautiful soft yellow?
The carpet in my room is green tender grasses. It's not thick and lush by any means. In some areas you see plenty of black dirt. Usually it is mowed, but today it stands uneven, a bunch here and a bunch there. It must have rained last night cause I can see little rain drops on each little blade as they stand there moving very gently in the slight breeze.
The only sounds I hear are the songs of the birds, and the cows calling for their babies somewhere to the east. Oh, a plane must be going over top somewhere up there among that gray. I can hear the peaceful hum of it's engine as it fades off into the east. Now it is gone and all is quiet once again.
I look around me, there are some strong upright trees that are the home of the squirrel, the tuttledove, the owl. Then there are trees that have weathered many a storm but they have become weak in old age and they have snapped and now lay down, some leaning upon another, some held up by their own branches.
Really I should cut them down and clean them up, but I haven't decided for sure on that. There is a special beauty to me in that old tree, that trunk that stood there so strong, but for some unknown reason, it broke and fell over. I love the picture it creates especially when the sun comes out and shines its golden ray down upon that old worn broken down tree.
The entrance to my "little room" is a little bridge made of old railroad planks laid out across the little dry creek bed. My husband and grandson picked up a load of tree shavings from a ditch somewhere and made a little path leading down to my bridge. That little path of tree shavings lay there a dark brown against the green grass. It beckons me to come, to leave all my stresses behind and come to my little quiet place and rest a while. Come and relax my mind, my very soul. Just be quiet.
I was fooling around on internet the other day and I typed in "Quotes for the soul". The first one I saw was "The soul knows how to heal itself...the challenge is to quiet the thoughts"
That is so me!! That is why I'm over here this morning. I walked into my room with a mind full of stressful, negative thoughts. But it was as if something was telling me..."You need to get away....you need to be alone." So here I am..no phone, no other people, no book, no nothing. Just me, my pen, my paper. Sometimes you hear that writers have a special place where they like to write. Well I am sure that mine will be over here. I have a problem with negative thoughts and sometimes I have found the greatest comfort here alone. Sometimes I write the deepest feelings when I am here alone.
But as I set here describing my rugged, open, quiet, beautiful place of nature, my mind lets go of those stressful thoughts, I can be myself, for just a little while. Here among the bird songs, the uneven tall grasses, the young strong trees, and yes those old worn broken trees. I can pour my heart out on paper, feel my mind relax, and once again I can go out over that little bridge, down that little path, back into the day.
As I walk toward my home, my phone, my responsibilities I look back for just a minute. There among that green grass lays that little brown path of tree shavings. It tells me..."I'm always here, all you need to do is. turn around, walk back, down me and I will bring you back to your little "quiet room" among the trees, the grasses, the birds and the sky.
The place where I am seems like a little room. Its walls are a row of ceders cutting me away from life's stresses. I can't see what is going on at the house, the other out buildings, the road. I'm here alone, just me, my paper, my pen.
The ceiling of my "little room" is the sky. I can look up and up and up, through the branches of those trees, up into nothing. Right now the sky is covered with a light skim of clouds. Not stormy, just enough to hide the sun. I set here on my bench looking up and I picture that same sky, dark and millions of stars are looking down at me. Smiling at me.
I have a huge "picture window" in my "little room". It covers the whole north side of the room. I put it there because looking out it I see nothing but emptiness. I do not have a curtain on it. I want it completely open. I want to be able to sit here on my bench and look out onto the rolling grasses there in the pasture. I want to be able to follow the dry creek bed with my eyes as it twist and turns its way out into nothingness, through the tall grasses, among those trees. I want to see the old barb wire fence held up by old hedge post, some standing straight, some loose only held there by a wire.
Over on the west wall of my "little room" I have a window. It's not covered with a curtain either, but outside it stands quite a few small trees. I like it that way really, because have you ever watched the sun set through the trees? Or watched sunlight float down in a golden stream, down among the leaves turning them a beautiful soft yellow?
The carpet in my room is green tender grasses. It's not thick and lush by any means. In some areas you see plenty of black dirt. Usually it is mowed, but today it stands uneven, a bunch here and a bunch there. It must have rained last night cause I can see little rain drops on each little blade as they stand there moving very gently in the slight breeze.
The only sounds I hear are the songs of the birds, and the cows calling for their babies somewhere to the east. Oh, a plane must be going over top somewhere up there among that gray. I can hear the peaceful hum of it's engine as it fades off into the east. Now it is gone and all is quiet once again.
I look around me, there are some strong upright trees that are the home of the squirrel, the tuttledove, the owl. Then there are trees that have weathered many a storm but they have become weak in old age and they have snapped and now lay down, some leaning upon another, some held up by their own branches.
Really I should cut them down and clean them up, but I haven't decided for sure on that. There is a special beauty to me in that old tree, that trunk that stood there so strong, but for some unknown reason, it broke and fell over. I love the picture it creates especially when the sun comes out and shines its golden ray down upon that old worn broken down tree.
The entrance to my "little room" is a little bridge made of old railroad planks laid out across the little dry creek bed. My husband and grandson picked up a load of tree shavings from a ditch somewhere and made a little path leading down to my bridge. That little path of tree shavings lay there a dark brown against the green grass. It beckons me to come, to leave all my stresses behind and come to my little quiet place and rest a while. Come and relax my mind, my very soul. Just be quiet.
I was fooling around on internet the other day and I typed in "Quotes for the soul". The first one I saw was "The soul knows how to heal itself...the challenge is to quiet the thoughts"
That is so me!! That is why I'm over here this morning. I walked into my room with a mind full of stressful, negative thoughts. But it was as if something was telling me..."You need to get away....you need to be alone." So here I am..no phone, no other people, no book, no nothing. Just me, my pen, my paper. Sometimes you hear that writers have a special place where they like to write. Well I am sure that mine will be over here. I have a problem with negative thoughts and sometimes I have found the greatest comfort here alone. Sometimes I write the deepest feelings when I am here alone.
But as I set here describing my rugged, open, quiet, beautiful place of nature, my mind lets go of those stressful thoughts, I can be myself, for just a little while. Here among the bird songs, the uneven tall grasses, the young strong trees, and yes those old worn broken trees. I can pour my heart out on paper, feel my mind relax, and once again I can go out over that little bridge, down that little path, back into the day.
As I walk toward my home, my phone, my responsibilities I look back for just a minute. There among that green grass lays that little brown path of tree shavings. It tells me..."I'm always here, all you need to do is. turn around, walk back, down me and I will bring you back to your little "quiet room" among the trees, the grasses, the birds and the sky.
So nice Helen~
ReplyDeleteOh, yes I have such a place. I think a writer needs there 'quiet' place. Mine changes from time to time, but the quietness, the calm, the alone...always calls my name too! Love your posts!
ReplyDelete