Contemplation as the day warms the little house. Cottonwood lane just beginning its turn toward winter. What is this? What is this solitude? Its qualities and characteristics?
It is every day different…spacious and enough time.
It is a very little needed and at hand. I settle. The mud clears.
It is simple meals … fresh spinach, bananas, soup, eggs, peanut butter.
It is self-sufficiency. A power cord. A solar panel. A rechargeable battery. 5 lb propane.
It is solitude without any demand. I can hear what is calling, what is called for next.
It is big windows that draw me outside. The sun comes. It warms. Everything changes effortlessly.And I move with it. Gently.
Trusting the rhythm larger than me (and not just comprised of the perceived demands/needs of others.)
It is the sound of the river running all night, all day.
It is the voice of the raven, flicker, coyote and bobcat scat on the trail. Silent hawk and heron.
It is watercolor circles, the joy of color, a map, a simple drawing, play at dusk.
It is no telephone, no email except perhaps once a day; a choice to walk up the mesa.
It is an announcement I am on retreat.
It is a safety …people or phone access if I need help.
It is portability. I can move if too hot, too loud. Relocate.
It is mostly packed. Cooler, fresh food, clothes cube, studio materials.
It is a place to sit, meditate, walk. It is a warm place in wind, rain, cold with a view out.
It is a day bed and lap desk. Books, music and poetry. It is table and chair.
It is the strong presence of moon and stars.