I have many happy places; two of the most prominent are Memory and Possibility.
I remember my mother admiring the gladiolus I’d grown next to my front door in Victoria. I look forward to digging up this year’s tulip bulbs tomorrow for storage and settling these into that still-friendly soil.
I remember the pleasure of finding a good chair for re-re-re-reading favourites. I remember the nickname we gave our “1.5-seater Chaplin” the moment we saw it at Harvey Norman in Cannington. S.L.O. I remember Little Women as my first real novel. I was in the third grade; the cover was a dark and nearly antebellum blue, and the book had to be renewed at the school library - a first. I’m eager to drag my annotated copy of LW into this chair and its strong but soft western light, maybe after sorting the bulbs.
Maybe I’ll complete the coziness and make tea. Will it be the plain and sloppily doctored stuff of my 8th grade efforts to teleport to Anything British, or a snazzy T2 cuppa?
This landscape is all foundation and sky.
