and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Since Rob's tragic fall, our house has become my house, and I no longer want to spend all my time here.
Still, it is a very fine house in a 13th century Bastide town in the south of France, surrounded by sunflower fields and vineyards.
Years ago, when Marlene agreed to hold workshops here, we called it the writing house and women from around the world came to write. When only we were at home, Rob. and I wrote. It's perfect for ruminating, for wandering around the countryside and for putting pen to paper. There are two offices with desks although I often find myself writing at the long kitchen table or on the outside table on the terrace.
My house has a resident cat, an arrogant miss called Fauci who we adopted during the pandemic. At first, we thought she was a he and by the time we found out her gender, Fauci liked her name. She only demands to be fed once a day and be stroked when she so desires.
My house has many stairs and to make the ascent more interesting, I painted favourite quotes from family and friends on some of the steps.
I am looking for a good person or a couple to fly to France and care for my house and cat. One month is fine but two or more months is better.
If this appeals to you, please contact me at byyoung@mac.com.
Thank you.
