When I Move To The Woods

When I move to the woods, I shall have a tree house. 

It will be tucked away in a shady corner of the thick pines, just within distance of the little creek. The water there makes music as it tumbles over large round rocks and snakes its way through the hillside- disappearing beyond the fence row to a place unknown.

I will build my tree house where there are wild flowers and sweet clover and animals that visit unaware.

 I will have a bright lantern of light that hangs from a rusty hook on the ceiling.

I will have a soft chair that sags when I sit, but pulls me into comfort.

I will have a writing desk with pen and paper and a stack of good books that never get old.

I will have my trusty binoculars, a pail for collecting stones, and a backpack ready with salty snacks and cool water in case I get hungry.

I will have a tattered blanket, a little pillow, and some stale bread for the birds.

I will watch the clouds, embrace the wind, and memorize the sunsets.

I will catch lightning bugs, gather pine cones and welcome days of soft rain.

I will listen to squirrels chatter, turkeys gobble and deer blow a warning to their fawns.

I will sing aloud, dance in my slippers, and dream of beaches and mountains and places I will visit.

I will pray. I will laugh. I will cry. And I will live.

When I move to the woods, I shall have a tree house....