My Little Cottage

I saw this painting of a little cottage,
Warm and cozy,
With smoke rising from its chimney.

It is right next to a river,
Secluded somewhere in nature,
Surrounded with trees,
With a thousand shades of color!

How often do I ache to go there,
To be alone,
And to be free;
Free of the burden of loving and caring,
Free from the pain of being loved and seen.

How I long to be bored,
With no meaningless activities to fill my life,
And no empty distractions to pull me aside.
With all my time devoted to my pursuit of dreams,
I can finish what I start,
And reap what I sow.

I wish to simply lie in the grass completely naked,
And soak in the sun as nature intended,
And not be intimidated by the imperfectness of my body.
I wish to stop seeing myself as a bundle of faults,
But a masterpiece of a craftsman,
A beauty set apart.

I long to wander as if I'm lost,
As if I'm looking for something still unfound.
I wish to walk without rushing anywhere,
Without making haste,
Without worrying one bit.
Perhaps then I might discover a cave,
Hidden behind the waterfall,
That echoes my voice as I sing to the nightfall.

I will read a thousand books
And why not write one myself?
Learn how to cook,
And grow my own food.

I will drink tea as I sit on my porch,
And carry the moonlight as my torch.
I will listen to the music of such peace and harmony,
That only nature can compose and sing to me.

I will dream a little and then a little more.

In my little cottage I will be safe with me and myself,
No one to hurt me and no one to hurt.
I will love myself fully,
And express myself freely,
And live as if I were invisible...

How I long for my little cottage that doesn't exist.
But then, why on earth does the imagination persist?
It is in the mind of the heart,
Where I can do things unfathomable,
Be with people unreachable,
And own places unobtainable!

So in my little cottage is where I am every night,
When I close my eyes and snuggle in tight.
And it feels better and even more real,
Than if it was any more than just a dream.