reading room.

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i've come through many changes of late, 

heart, spirit, soul, internal. 

all of these transformations give me reasons to look at how i view myself, 

and how do i look at my little world around me - ?

i've come to realize i enjoy time to myself, and i've become rather choosy

about who i take into my circle.  

this room is a sweet little room on the third and uppermost story of 

the pencilfox house, 

tucked into the 12/12 pitch of the eaves, facing east. 

for too long i have saved that good bed linen, those special blankets, 

set aside this room as the place where, 

one day, someone will come and stay as my guest. 
[one day i will throw open the front door, and there you will be….]

this sunny and lazy afternoon, i decided to become my own guest.  

i dressed the old iron bed and lay'd upon her, book in hand, 

my favourite photos and paintings surrounding me on the walls. 

there's a hand-knit bunny in a basket, 

a favourite photo tucked into the glass of a long-ago-acquired alaska print, 

a small tapestry tacked onto the wall, 

and milo's little plastic beads returned back onto the mattress. 

this old bedframe has been mine since i was a mere girlchild, 

and i've packed-and-carried it across the outside united states, 

up the alcan highway. 

it's a small bed yet a high bed, 

and it's all this hobbiten can do to stretch a leg, to gain access to the 

princess-and-the-pea height of it all. 

once there, this coyotegirl beat down the grasses and found the sweet spot, 

my very own little den. 

*

life is good.

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