Our little fairy tale cottage is surrounded by about thirty trees on half an acre. Almost all the window views are of trees. This is a view from our bedroom. It was taken yesterday right before it really started snowing. I feel like the leaves were reaching out to touch me.
One definition of “solitude” is an “uninhabited place.” We live about 2 miles from Washington, D.C. but when I am in my house on a snowy day, I can walk through the house looking out our windows and feeling, as I look out, that I live in a house deep in some magical woods.
We bought our house from a 92-year old widow. She and her husband built the house in the late 1970’s, when they were in their 60’s, as their retirement home. He was an avid gardener and we have him to thank for the incredible greenery.
When I first saw the lot I felt like it was my very own Secret Garden. I felt that I would get well here, like Mary Lennox had gotten well in her Secret Garden.
I felt that I would eat here the way one eats after swimming at the pool all day long. I felt that I would tramp around the environs the way one does when one is on a mission to make things grow. I felt that I would sleep here, the way one does when a small army of old trees is watching over one at night.