This morning was cool with the crisp edge of fall laced in each breath. We live in the lee of the mountain in a stone cottage with it’s own name. The Windwood Cottage is a source of inspiration hidden in small delightful packages.
The house is set below the winding road that runs from mountain top to downtown urban entertainments. A stand of bamboo shelters our front walk. The back deck looks out over federal forest where mountain laurel, wisteria, lilly, and other flowers, whose names are yet unknown to me, bloom throughout the seasons.
We have been here since May and each season brings new discoveries and wonders at the nature around us. A humming bird peaked in the window last week to say hello. Ferrydiddles scamper through the underbrush around the back deck, too shy to make an acquaintance.
The cottage is nestled between the mountain and the forest.
Our dinning room, where I write, has large picture windows on three sides from a second floor perch, for a complete view of the side yard from front to back. I’ve watched bees swarming in the honeysuckle which has grown large like a tree. Cardinal birds flit from branch to branch. I keep hoping they will find our bird feeder and continue to pass there time here. Our two cats lay on the wide sill of the windows, languid one moment, as only cats can be. Alert the next, at some visitor on the other side of the glass.
Our ghost has been settled lately. She hasn’t hidden anything from me in a couple of weeks. Perhaps we have arrived at an understanding.
Pull up a chair, have a cup of coffee or perhaps herbal tea and visit with me. The best story tellers among us begin by listening to the tales others have to tell.
Eden
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