Tamara Willems

and so i have soft walls…

I should be shoveling snow,  but this morning so far
I am being
luxuriously
lazy

reading through a beloved classic
which I knew of,  but had not read
having gifted myself, a belated Christmas
the description of a lovely old bookshop
in which
I
would like to live
or at the very least
aimlessly
wander,

it’s dim inside, you can smell the shop before you see it, must and dust and age, and walls of wood and floors of wood.
…  The shelves go on forever.  They go up to the ceiling and they’re very old and kind of grey, like old oak that has absorbed so much dust over the years they no longer are their true color.”

eyes lifting from my book
to
absorb things of beauty
the breath of light in rooms just
waking
looking, breathing
thinking
no claims of decorating prowess, yet repeatedly
so very pleased by my choices
I am in love with the softest of hues
in colours
in nature
in people too,  I suppose
and what a blessing to so often and
so easily set one’s eyes upon
things
that quietly
delight

softness to me. I think is
kindness
and so I have soft
walls

for kindness

also I am thinking of
the blessing of being so very tired
at the end of a day
having a bed to fall into
blankets to warm and later in the night
arms to sleepily
wrap around
me
the very celebration of gratitude for
the luxury
of
my bed
truly not to be taken for granted
a simple comfort
denied to some
by circumstance or situation

this morning, while the sunshine beams in
I am thinking of things to be done
regardless of how allergies might protest
there are floors to be swept
tumbleweeds of hair
to be gathered
when suddenly, the dog curled up in the chair opposite mine
lets out a long low melodious howl
while still asleep
rubbing his lovely large head for comfort
I ask him what sort of dream he has been having

admittedly I am not a good housekeeper
I am marvelous at looking at what needs
doing
and then willingly sinking back into my book
or rather
wantonly wandering around in
words
I am thinking this morning of a brilliant title for my writing (ha!)
further ramblings of a flower who’s been pressed in a book
and bright is a day,  when I can make myself laugh
it is I suppose just how we choose to spend our time
that is rather
telling

I choose to spend my time
in the throes
of love
and gratitude

and this morning, I am thinking
how very easy it is to fall in love with you
even from this
angle ♥

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