happiness, life, photography

At My House

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photo by Sylvia

At my house, there are books. There are open books, stacks of books, groupings, families, renegades. There are plants and flowers; dried and fresh flowers, long leaves in vases, old pottery with lavender. You may find sticks on the table, or maybe a rock, a wing, pens and pencils, a lipstick, a moth. 

There is an old hand-made quilt with a tiny rose print and there is art. Some is mine and some is not mine. There is chocolate and Spanish ham, cheeses, fruit, sometimes wine, sometimes good dark beer and sometimes whiskey. There are little statues of birds and fawns. There is music from the 60’s and 70’s and 90’s; occasionally opera, or Gregorian chants, mostly folk, rock, country, classical guitar.

At my house, there are candles and incense. There is a stained glass lamp with ruby spiders and there are hurricane lamps and sand dollars. 

What is your safe place? I was asked recently—and I answered, “my house”.

photo by Sylvia
photo by Sylvia

20 thoughts on “At My House”

  1. Your magic house, where you can tiptoe from symbol to symbol like stepping stones through a lily pond and spy from behind a moss covered keystone bridge and giggle at the frogs and dragonflies then step back through your front door for afternoon tea with a dried rose on the tablecloth.

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