Someday I want a tree.
Not like, I want to plant a tree. Or I want to name one after myself. I mean I want a tree. A big fat oak tree that I find. That I love. That speaks to me as clearly as my haven tree does. And I want to build my life around it.
I want to build a house so magical, that it can only be held up by the sturdiness of my tree. Our tree.
I want a living house. A breathing replica of the home I find sometimes in my mind. I want the walls to sing and the windows to smile. I want to watch the rain fall down in droplets through rough bark as I drink my morning coffee. I want raw wood beams and high ceilings, a loft in the bows, and a writing nook in a bay window I design and install myself. I want a fireplace, but I want it to be inside and outside. A double.
I want a large brick patio, with room for friends, and family to gather and be at peace. I want a barn, with animals that I’ve known and loved since I was small. Cows. Pigs. Horses. Sheep. And I want a lot of dogs. I want like five dogs.
And a cat.
And maybe a pair of crows.
But the rest can stay in the barn.
I want a small cottage, right next to my writing room. And I want them to connect. In the cottage will be my prayer space. And my dojo. I want it to be where I go to center and to ground myself. And I want it to house my treasure.
And I want to swing deadly weapons around in there. You know–to calm down.
In the garage (Because every man needs a garage), I want two dirt bikes and my own street bike. I’d also like Steven’s dirt bike and maybe a little cc50 rice rocket for him to put around on and get used to. I also want a four-wheeler. A camping trailer (pop up preferable) and an off-roading beater, to play ’round in the mud.
I want a canoe, maybe, or a dingy. Something to float on the river with and catch a few fish. And I want a workshop: full setup. I want to craft and I want to build, and I want the equipment to do so.
And I want a piano. I love pianos. I’m not very good at playing. I’ve only taught myself a few simple songs, and most of those I can’t play two-handed. But man: I love the piano. It might be my favorite instrument.
I’ll drive someone nuts, probably Steven, by playing the same songs over and over again. And I will sing again. And perform in my cozy kitchen while I bake. And I will know that my life is exactly what I want it to be: because I took the steps to make it that way. And I will be happy.