An evening in mid-May sees me sitting in our old living room (as opposed to our new one), on the gay floral linen love seat. It's a comfy and firm seat, with glorious peonies or hydrangeas (or both) on a pale yellow background. Just what one wants in a small sun room. (And in a sunny disposish: a delicate buttercream of demeanor, sprinkled with vibrant petals of repartee and textures of intelligent discourse.)
The seasons are so evident in this room. There is a west window, not too large, which magnifies the sun's stretch across the horizon, if one is observant. The winter window is hardly discernible, given all the potted plants over-wintering. If we see the winter setting sun, it's too far south from this window, and this room is dark most winter days. The potted plants stretch to gain any sun that they can. The piano and the cello are in use now, in this little old living room.
In Spring, the very low horizon sunlight of the new-found sunrise only goes to magnify the glorious hardwood floors - and its dust in the old living room. This hardwood is original to this ca. 1887 farmhouse. Some Spring mornings see me grabbing a dry dust mop to attend to such while our morning coffee is brewing.
Summertime! It's already hot outdoors. In the late afternoon, I eagerly come in here to enjoy the cool of the room, and the dark, which gradually and good-for-the-soul, turns into a sunny room with then, a "day is done" sunset out that west window.
And that's where I am now: sitting on the love seat, reading, watching the sunset, planning tomorrow's gardening agenda. And, late that it is, I can still see that summer horizon out of the west window of this little old living room, with our old, old trees lining our road, with that dark summer silhouette.
