New house meditations

"Touch me with your naked hand,
or touch me with your glove,
Dance me to the end of love...."








I wish to settle. The world is still open before us. We are not in the place we will stay. Nevertheless we have a new house, with light and flowers and white walls and dirt and windows and spiders. White curtains that the night wind blows through in every corner of the house. We painted our bedroom walls a deep periwinkle-lapis (a flower, a stone) blue so that in the late afternoon sunlight it feels as though you were at the bottom of a deep freshwater spring.

I have never had my own house. I feel as though I am playing house, and will get found out someday in my hollow redwood stump with the cast off rag rug on the mulch below me, serving mudcakes on a mossy table adorned with flowers (vetch and lupin, mostly) in a scavenged beer can.
In my treehouse as a girl I had a lot of salvaged carpet scraps, a ladder made of rope and sectioned broom handles, and an old mailbox fixed to a bough with bailing wire. Today I scavenge from the parents of we for rugs, couches, even a split-leaf philodendron.







I have many silly and grandiose dreams. I wish to have a library someday. All books and a green glass shaded lamp, and perhaps some leather chairs and dusty persian rugs (ha!) and a bunch of sleepy cats.






Thank goodness for the eccentric rich!

Look at this no really:

The Imaginary Mansion of The Duquettes