a winter view

A while ago, I remember that I wrote about wanting to be somewhere with a view. In a place ‘just for me’. Was it last year? The year before? I don’t remember …

Perhaps I envisaged this. Or something that felt like this. I don’t remember that either. But somehow being able to look out onto a view – any view – is important.

At home in Australia, I have no view. There is a street. Some trees. A little sky. But there is no sunrise or sunset to fill the window. There is no open space that I can see.

And this is where I am. In another home. In a space that was a basement garage but now is not. Now, it is a place to sit and read. To sit and think. Or just to sit and do nothing at all.

When I look out my window at the view, as I’m doing now, my heart sings.