I dwell inside a draftsman’s wooded dream.
A spirit-cradling cottage shelters me
that hunkers in the elbow of a stream
that serenades its shaded property.

A year and some ago, when first I found
the house and walked into its grained embrace,
when I beheld its depth of fertile ground,
I felt that I was home. I’d gained a place
that knew me like it waited patiently
asleep for me to find or rediscover
security. Now I could let it be
my friend, protector, confidant and lover.

Perhaps I lived here in another life,
but if the place were male I’d be its wife.