Let’s talk about something.
A house with a staircase facing East/West, front to back so that the sun will always shine through big exterior windows. There will also be one or two interior ones. The floors could be dark red rippled mahogany in the living room. One of the more magical things money can buy. The hallways will be interlocking, but wide bright planks nonetheless. I think I’ll have posters on one wall of the entrance atrium. Dali paintings on the other. A few modern abstracts. The kitchen could be warm, honey-brown and oak. Appliances navy blue, the sinking sun blinking and batting light across their shines. Steel vacuum over the stove, black iron frameless, sterling silver gas burners. Bronze dials.
Hints of oven’ing rich chocolate chip cookie doughs toasting aloft in the breathing. Dark marble countertop, flat and hard and smooth. Deep breaths in a large room, room to breathe. Shimmering sun saying its hellos to the things, the blender, the microwave. Children in slow motion, running through the hall and across the wide oak boards, into and through the kitchen. Windmills in their hands. Smiles leading their adventures’ way. Carefree, relaxed . . A great peace growing in the acres of the home. Sleeping, distilling the useless from the harmony and health.
Gentle, sweeping happiness, whisking notes of cracked walnut and aged gruyere cheese. A bottle of white port, half-corked on the counter.
Slowly, the reeds along the shallow river ebb against the wind, and yawn at the bending. You can hear the distant rustling of them all, in rippling conversation, through the open kitchen windows.
The orange/sepia glowing of field-dust, glimmering, prancing, on the air.
I rest my eyes and brow and lids, and I watch everything all around. Resting to the sound of children laughing in the field, and the blanket of aromas in the oven. Sitting, i gaze into calm riches.
"Look… Look at this…"