I didn't get far today. Just down to the local coffee shop and back again. It's been head down, bum up with work, then a bit of a read, and a bit of dinner, and a bit of telly and now it's eleven 'o' clock and I've got nothing to write about. So, I've cracked open the new Catherine Deveny Writing Prompt Cards. I've gone for the less risqué box for something to write about tonight.
I've gone for something rather benign tonight. The card reads:
"The best room in the world. Is this somewhere you know? Have you been there? Are you imagining it? Share why it's the best."
My best room is large. Large and wood paneled, and at least one wall is floor to ceiling bookshelves which are stuffed with all sorts of book. They books are loosely sorted into genres. There's the kids book section, where you'll find battered copies of Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket, Artemis Fowl and Philip Pullman. There's shelves of Shakespeare and Shakespeare-adjacent books, and a section of non-fiction to one side, which some might find surprising. The rest of the books are general fiction, and mainly paperbacks. There's a ladder on wheels which can reach all of the high up shelves. I love that the dark wood makes the room smell like an old library. You can imagine this room being used by scholars and writers of all kinds.
There's a big bay window which looks out over the sea, where one can sit on the window ledges, which have inbuild storage, and cushions on top, so you can not only read in the window, but ponder the sea for hours at a time.
Off to one side is a large chaise lounge, upholstered in a rich brown leather, a lot like my current Hemingway chair (which is also my cat's current throne) Soft blankets on rich tones hang over the arms as well, next to a couple more overstuffed cushions). This is the most perfect place to read.
Against a wall, not too far from the large fireplace, is a large wooden desk, with a battered leather top, which has meaningful, sporadic piles of papers, books and notepads. A laptop sits in the middle of the desk, with a large water bottle and a number of coffee cups, resting on notepads. There is no such thing as a coaster in this room. That's what notepads are for.
A large black cat slinks around the room, trying to decide what surface to sleep on. The windowsill? The chair? The end of the desk? Or in the cat bed which he has commandeered the space on a sunny shelf near the window, where the afternoon sun hits just right. He likes the shelf. It keeps him out of the eyeline of the Bernese Mountain Dog asleep on the large, colourful rag rug, which protects the floorboards.
A crystal pendulum hangs from the curtain rails sending light around the room. A lit candle diffuses the scent of sandalwood, amber and vetiver around the space. It's an earthy scent, very much in keeping with the room and its owner.
Although this is an imaginary space, it is very much my most perfect room, as it is near the sea - not the bay with its limited tides, but near a changeling ocean, which ebbs and flows with the moon and isobars, fickle in its placidity or ferocity, depending on its mood. There is a path which leads to the sea, which is used daily.
Although this place is imaginary, I like to think that one day I would own such a space.
And if not this, then my second most favourite room is at L'Hotel des Oranges in Sommiere, which is as close to heaven as I have ever been. This is the view from the bathroom.
No comments:
Post a Comment