"Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plenitude of the soul." ~ Gaston Bachelard
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping this morning. Not the angry squawk of crows, not neighbors mucking about in their yards (they tend not to do that at 5:30am), not the guy across the street revving his motorcycle engine for 10 minutes non-stop until I’m so angry I want to go online and order a rocket launcher. But birds. Chirping. And it was sunny, which after 60 days of rain, cloud, drizzle and general ickiness, made waking up a good thing.
For a minute, I just laid there and pretended I didn’t have to get up, rush through my writing then trudge off to the day job. I imagined I wasn’t situated in the ‘burbs, but was lying on my bed in the spacious room of a sprawling old farmhouse. Outside, the yard was filled with thick old oak trees, their leaves still rife with the newness of spring green. There wasn’t even the faintest hint of smog or exhaust or fumes of any kind, it was just pure fresh air. A breeze wafted in from my partially opened window and the white sheers billowed out like clouds. Somewhere beyond the oak trees there was a little barn, and in that little barn was a horse, and a cow. Probably a pig, a barn cat, a few chickens with fuzzy little chicks, and a goat with a bit of an attitude problem, but no more than that.
And in this wonderful daydream, I didn’t have to get up, rush through my writing and then slog to work. All I needed to do was get up, go milk the cow and feed the animals while Cedar lumbered along at my heels happy as a clam. When I get back to my rambling farmhouse, the coffee has percolated and the scent permeates the kitchen. I pour a big mug, grab a warm cinnamon roll, and amble into my writing room. The room is decorated in honey colored hardwood floors, butter yellow walls that glow warm and cozy in the sunlight filtering through the large window and a big comfy red couch. My desk is old and ornate with cubby holes and drawers and a modern addition of a keyboard tray at just the right height.
I turn the computer on and print off yesterday’s writing then plop down on the couch with the coffee, kick my feet up on the rectangular ottoman (with interior storage!) and get out my favorite fine point pen. The dog curls up next to me, content to just hang out and snooze.
The words flow off the page and—
J nudges me. “You gonna turn that alarm off?”
Sigh…back to reality.
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping this morning. Not the angry squawk of crows, not neighbors mucking about in their yards (they tend not to do that at 5:30am), not the guy across the street revving his motorcycle engine for 10 minutes non-stop until I’m so angry I want to go online and order a rocket launcher. But birds. Chirping. And it was sunny, which after 60 days of rain, cloud, drizzle and general ickiness, made waking up a good thing.
For a minute, I just laid there and pretended I didn’t have to get up, rush through my writing then trudge off to the day job. I imagined I wasn’t situated in the ‘burbs, but was lying on my bed in the spacious room of a sprawling old farmhouse. Outside, the yard was filled with thick old oak trees, their leaves still rife with the newness of spring green. There wasn’t even the faintest hint of smog or exhaust or fumes of any kind, it was just pure fresh air. A breeze wafted in from my partially opened window and the white sheers billowed out like clouds. Somewhere beyond the oak trees there was a little barn, and in that little barn was a horse, and a cow. Probably a pig, a barn cat, a few chickens with fuzzy little chicks, and a goat with a bit of an attitude problem, but no more than that.
And in this wonderful daydream, I didn’t have to get up, rush through my writing and then slog to work. All I needed to do was get up, go milk the cow and feed the animals while Cedar lumbered along at my heels happy as a clam. When I get back to my rambling farmhouse, the coffee has percolated and the scent permeates the kitchen. I pour a big mug, grab a warm cinnamon roll, and amble into my writing room. The room is decorated in honey colored hardwood floors, butter yellow walls that glow warm and cozy in the sunlight filtering through the large window and a big comfy red couch. My desk is old and ornate with cubby holes and drawers and a modern addition of a keyboard tray at just the right height.
I turn the computer on and print off yesterday’s writing then plop down on the couch with the coffee, kick my feet up on the rectangular ottoman (with interior storage!) and get out my favorite fine point pen. The dog curls up next to me, content to just hang out and snooze.
The words flow off the page and—
J nudges me. “You gonna turn that alarm off?”
Sigh…back to reality.
As you can see, it was messy, and then got messier. I don't even want to get into how much dust was kicked up during this process. Suffice to say, I should have taken out shares in Claritin. But finally, after way more work than I had originally envisioned and after weeks of promising my Success Team members that I would get it done, we have the finished product:
