It’s been so long since I’ve sat down to write anything that I think I might just have forgotten how to do it. I’ve been sat at my table staring blankly out the window for the past ten minutes searching my mind for a subject to spark my inspiration. Then the lightbulb above my head came on with a glaring light, write about the view. It’s gorgeous.
The view is what sold me on this cottage, that first visit over two years ago. I came into this place with it’s pink textured wallpaper and brown floral carpet, squeezing around all the crammed in old furniture, wondering at the dust and filth that had taken tenancy here. This place hadn’t been touched in years, stuck somewhere in 1985. I was shown upstairs and as I struggled up the tiny twisting staircase I searched desperately for a polite excuse for leaving and never returning to this stale time capsule. Then I saw the view through the tiny window.
My photos don’t do it justice. Just the other day as I arrived home my breath was taken away, I looked over the field and saw the sun breaking through the clouds in warm golden threads which spotlighted the rolling greenery below the sky. How is it I can still look out there and find myself smiling? When ever speaking to somebody about our little cottage I thrill in telling them about the field opposite. It is often occupied by very friendly cows who love to moo in response to passing cars and tower over the shrubbery to look into my windows. They share the lush land with much smaller creatures too, the grey hopping kind with white fluffy tails. I love to open my curtains in the morning and watch as the wild rabbits stretch out of their frosty sleep. They chase each other around and delight in munching dandelions. It’s just like something out of a Beatrix Potter story!
So although my walls are still covered in stubborn textured wallpaper and the ceilings are so low I am forever banging my head, all is forgiven when I look out of my windows.