a night of stories layered upon themselves. dreams that followed a lovely sense of cohesiveness. living past lives and future lives and make-believe lives. i dreamt of little rooms tucked under slanted ceilings. i was walking back into the life of my young girl self, moving into a dorm room with more charm and beauty than my actual boarding school dormitory rooms ever had. but there was the same sense of excitement, setting up a little space for me to feel safe and happy.
maybe it's being at the cottage. organizing around a space that we are in only sometimes. a kitchen that we use differently than our kitchen at home. i'm at home here, but only sort of. tom likes to call it an extension of home. it feels that way for him, but it's still more foreign for me. i am one that must mold my own space, and that is only slightly possible here. and when the weather is overcast and windy, we spend our lazy time inside, reading, watching movies. i've been embroidering a quilt. and my parents spent the afternoon and evening with us yesterday. my mother and i went back to millers to buy the poodle. i couldn't get it out of my mind. and we bought fresh produce from the farm stand for dinner. dark purple beans that turn green as they cook. cucumbers. roma tomatoes. new potatoes. onions. all combining to make a wonderful simple cottage dinner.
and now, morning coffee, tom playing guitar, edgar wandering down to the lake. it's a good morning.