if i had another life, this is how i would live.

i would have very few things - only what i use every day - and too many books. i would live in a little cottage with white-washed walls and clean open windows flooding the simple sparse rooms with light and fresh breezes. the front porch would have a white wicker swing with soft faded cushions and a crocheted blanket for cool evenings under the stars. pots of overflowing ivy and red geraniums would line the front steps leading to a screen door - always open to the sounds of birds and laughter and neighbors calling out as they pass. the one gathering room would have a big braided rug with every color running through it - the couches covered in natural linen slipcovers - the stone fireplace ready with split and seasoned wood neatly stacked. the floor underneath the rug would be honey colored oak - smooth and worn from life and pets and shearling slippers. the kitchen - white with butcher block counter tops and open cabinets - just enough stoneware bowls and plates and coffee mugs, but not too many. the silverware would be old and polished - heavy and worn from generations - washed by hand and placed in the cotton lined drawer ready for the next meal. standing in the center of the kitchen would be an ancient weathered farmhouse table surrounded by an assortment of wooden chairs and the fat yellow vase in the center would always be filled with fresh cut flowers from the garden. the bathroom would be austere and clean with a rain shower, a white tub and thick towels on hooks, soft and sweet smelling from the wash. the bedrooms would each hold a lovely wooden bed with the best mattress money could buy - fluffy down comforters and pillows - fine silky linens - one set would be enough for each bed - washed and replaced before sleep. good reading lamps would be scattered through the house beside beds and overstuffed chairs for hours and hours of being lost in stories of lives and foreign lands and mary oliver's poetry. windows would be covered in natural cotton muslin covering darkness but light enough to allow dawn to awaken me each morning. the house would be lovely - not pretentious - but simple and useful.

a beach would be nearby - and the ocean - for hours spent collecting shells and walking in the early morning and lying on a blanket observing the world with my notebook and pen. the salty air would nourish the pink and blue and white mop head hydrangeas in the wild and almost overgrown cottage garden surrounding the house - filled with sweet smelling phlox and feathery cosmos, lush white montauk daisies, zinnias and peonies and flowers abundant. in the center of the back yard would be a roomy square of tilled earth in perfect order with straight rows of green beans and watermelons, sweet corn, tomatoes, bell peppers and mounds of zucchini for making bread. the gravel driveway would make a comforting crunch as family and friends arrive for supper. fat calico cats would roam in and out as they please - dozing in dizzying sunbeams in the day and my lap in the evening. the house would be filled with children and laughter and time enough for all the important parts of life like conversation and music and good books, spring gardening and naps in the porch swing after lunch.