I am blessed to live where I do — in a small city along a bay off the Atlantic Ocean. From my driveway, I can be at any one of five beaches within ten minutes’ driving. I can be at the edge of the mighty Saint John River within five minutes. And within fifteen minutes, I can be in the middle of a forest where I will see very few — if any — people.
This morning, my husband, our dog, and I went for a drive. The plan was to take some photographs and to simply see what there was to see today. Our wanderings found us at the edge of a lake, where a thin skim of ice skirted the edges.
Have you ever heard or seen a lake “breathe”? It is quite something. As the water moves, it pushes against the air trapped under the ice, causing a shifting pattern of light and dark, and making a creaking noise.
In short, it is mesmerizing. Amazing what we can witness when we take the time to sit and be present.
I have been intending to come back here for so long.
This small room in our house was labelled SEWING ROOM on the blueprints we found in the attic. When I lived alone in the house for the two months before we were married, it was my bedroom, and for twenty-four years, I have planned to use it as my writing room.
I have a wonderful desk here — made from an old pump organ that sung its songs to the heavens in an unknown little country church at the turn of the 20th century. But for the majority of the last seven years, the desk became a place where I just tossed things that were in my way, and it waited — lonely — for me to come write. And I never did.
Tonight that changed. In the space of 45 minutes, I cleared off the desk, put away books, set up the Keurig, and prepared my writing space. This is my first blog post written here, but it will not be my last. Listening to the rain hitting the windows, I am so happy to be sitting here writing.
I have been intending to come back here for so long. Perhaps I didn’t think I deserved it.