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photo journal

mystic mornings

jillian rose

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A tiny red cabin, tucked away from the road, surrounded by birds and bunnies.  The windows were old, single pane glass where the winter’s ice created its art.

The mornings were bright.  Most began with coffee and oatmeal, made on a little two burner propane stove.   We didn't want curtains (even with the moon at night).  Quiet mornings were just about the only times I could get myself to sit down and read.  In the winter, I’d wear my sleeping bag in my patched butterfly chair by the window with Sol.  He’d try to eat my cereal and tip over my coffee.  On warmer days, we’d read outside.  You can walk in this sleeping bag.

The deer seemed to come to me in moments of silence & creativity.  I’d sneak away and grab my Minolta and a roll of film.  The most magical moment was when these two young bucks were playing in the snow.  The photos were taken through the little kitchen windows.

It was all I could have dreamed of for our first tiny house in the woods (save the landlord).  The outside world is distracting. 600 square feet with no doors to open and close, except the bathroom. And the refrigerator & the two going outside.  

The space was sunny and open.  The bathroom had a wood slat shower and that’s also where the sink was.  The arrangement lended itself beautifully to those who appreciate the occasional brushing of teeth in the shower.  I’ve always felt that warm bristles don’t do as good of a job.  

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Afternoon showers were the best; the sunlight would come through the old window panes and illuminate the warm steam, casting a shadow on the wood grain. I loved that window even though it was rotting and falling off the hinges.  It smelled so so good, a wooden shower, heated by the sunshine.  Wildflowers in a vase on the windowsill from yesterday’s hike.  I entered the tiny house through that window once.  The morning after the doorbell incident. 

fireflies in the dacha!

Fireflies would later get in through said window and glow like stars against the open space looking out from the loft bedroom at night.

Outside, the deer would nibble on the grass and the vine leaves that snaked themselves around the big white pine.  Over the course of the year one of the does got a bum leg.  There was a young buck who always stayed with her though, and I thought it was the most beautiful thing.  He’d roam around the yard and she’d take siestas under the pine’s feathery shadows.

Books I was magnetically drawn to tended to stay on my little bookshelf for a while.  And by the time I'd pick one up, it was perfectly aligned with whatever was going on in my life.  Actually, since I started this creative, inward journey, I’ve felt more in tune with life in general.  The more I express out loud what I’m seeking, the more those things present themselves to me.

The tiny house was surrounded by new growth forest.   The woods truly were my home.  I liked exploring on the rainy days.  Putting on my rain boots, and if it wasn’t too drizzly, my camera.  Everything glows in that soft, dark light.  On nicer days, I would go for a run in the nature preserve across the street, or go and visit the owls at the sanctuary.

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I began to learn tree names and bird songs and to identify wildflowers & mushrooms.  Sometimes Tim and I would be skipping through the woods and we’d startle a deer.  I tried to find out where they slept at night.  I told them I loved them.

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