I am alone. I am in an old room, a replica of one you could see on the movie “the haunted mansion.” The room is lit by candle light and old chandeliers. I am actually in a mansion. I am sitting in an old chaise lounge. It is old and torn at the arms and sides. It feels comforting and inviting as I sink down into it. I feel very safe in this house. In the middle of the room, there is an old antique table. It holds bright beautiful flowers, full of life. At the far side of the room, there is a never ending bookshelf, with every genre and interest I could ever dream of. The walls are painted a dull mix of yellow and red. The air is a mixture of lavender and dust. I am wearing comfortable jeans and my favorite t-shirt. I am looking outside into the front lawn before I start to read my book that’s patiently waiting in my hands. It is raining outside. The rain is beating up against the sides of my window, creating a soothing rhythm and filling the room with its presences. I start reading and I’m at total peace. This is a perfect place.
A perfect place
February 2, 2011