From The Cottage Door

Tomorrow, I will stand on the other side of this picture/drawing, and story.

I stood.

A few steps out from the doorway of the cottage.  Mug of tea in hand.  The wood of the doorjamb worn smooth from the friction of wood on wood, or hand on wood-leaning-wearing smooth and sealing with the oil of human touch.  The passing through to greet each day showing over time.

I stood.

Because opening the door for that first look,  always, stops me.  There, right there, and always there, the smell.  The stunning fragrance of ocean, and stone.  Not many recognize that stone has fragrance.  A clean, crisp fragrance.  And every morning it mingles with the ocean’s aroma blowing in just to greet the stone.  They marry.  And carry onward.  To embrace me and my senses.  All for my luxury.

I stood.

For the view.  Later in this day, and all days, I may sit for the view.  But each breaking morn, with that married breath of air greeting me, and the vision of the earth meeting me.  I could not do any less then to stand and welcome such – with nothing but – my full attention and respect.

I stood.

My mug of tea never quite forgotten, but nearly so, at the moment of this welcome.  Fully greeted by my world I raise my mug in silent but grateful salute.

Sláinte my world.











*My picture.  My drawing.  My words.  My vision.









23 thoughts on “From The Cottage Door

  1. you are on holiday? I had a “déjà-vue” as I looked at your picture…I thought I saw it the last 2 years already….have a nice trip….


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