The wind is howling, our house is shaking, creaking, moaning and straining under the force of it. It has been like this all day. It sounds like the wind could rip a window out of its frame.
I am sitting here, safely tucked in my new corner of the world.
A corner of the living room, converted.
Into a private sanctuary.
A writing nook. A desk.
My own desk.
A place to look out the window and watch the changing light on the mountains, or at this moment the raging wind pushing at the sliding glass doors. A place of my own. And it feels very different.
This space feels like progress.
Even though it is just a collection of odd ball things from around the house, it seems like they are coming together in support of words, inspiration, ritual, and crafting something new.
And that feels good. Like there is a space to hold some of the uncertainty and chaos, a place to dream of new things, new adventures.
A place to find calmness and sanctuary.