Welcome to the Restful Writer Series,
A collection of thoughtful,
Slightly rambling letters,
Written by an ordinary woman who moves to a small coastal town to fulfill her dream of being an artist.
I am that woman,
And these are my letters.
I've rented a cottage in the woods,
Within walking distance of the sea.
I spend a lot of time collecting things to make art,
But mostly I find myself just living.
Each day I write a letter home,
A simple record of my day,
Shared with someone I love.
I write about life at the cottage,
Wandering the woods and along the beach,
Walking into town to shop or have coffee at the cafe.
I write about making art,
Or at least trying to make art,
And letter by letter I am beginning to understand that just living is its own kind of art.
If it's alright,
I thought I'd just read my letter aloud as I write it,
Savoring the simple pleasures and comfort of a day well lived.
Thank you for listening.
May you find comfort here with me.
Maybe just taking a deep breath and listening to the sound of my voice.
Comforts and soothes,
And your body can relax,
Your mind can quiet.
Maybe closing your eyes feels good,
Letting your eyelids be heavy and soft.
It's perfectly fine if you find yourself drifting.
Today's letter is about travel in pursuit of a dream,
Bed linens that smell like honeysuckle,
And the sense of arriving.
My love,
I'm happy to report that the early morning train ride to town was blissfully uneventful.
The sun was just stretching awake as I arrived at the station,
And the train was nearly empty.
I was delighted to have a row of seats to myself.
After all the rushing around to prepare for this journey,
It was wonderful to sit and just rest.
I could breathe just a little bit deeper.
There was nothing more to do.
I could rest.
The cracked green leather bulk of the seat hugged me hello.
A whiff of something slightly musty was somehow reassuring as I gazed out the window.
What is it about travel and gazing and gazing out windows that feels so melancholy?
Is it that everything is speeding along while we sit still,
Whether we're journeying near or far,
Saying hello or goodbye?
I think gazing out a window as the world speeds by somehow softens the heart.
The rhythm of the wheels on the track lull me into moving a little slower,
Doing everything with a meditative flow.
Every action was a kind of savoring,
Slowly opening my insulated lunch sack,
Carefully unwrapping my breakfast of peanut butter and grape jelly on sourdough,
A childhood comfort.
The first bite was the pure joy of a six-year-old.
When I looked out the window again,
The passing fields and farms,
A blurry green river,
The ache to create something beautiful,
And all the possibilities that waited for me at the cottage had gratitude washing over me.
I am an ordinary woman crossing thousands of miles after months of saving and planning to live just for a while as an artist.
The wheels of the train echoed,
As an artist,
As an artist,
As an artist.
My heart beat in reply,
Yes,
Thank you,
Yes,
Thank you,
Yes,
Thank you.
The rhythm of the train continued to weave its spell for hours.
I felt as if I could float through the window into another time and place.
I must have slept because I was surprised when we pulled into the station.
My travel day concluded with a languid,
Meandering drive to the cottage.
It was wonderful to have finally arrived,
And despite never having been here before,
It felt familiar,
Like coming home.
The pretty face of the cottage,
All ivy covered brick and wide windows,
Seemed to be waiting for me.
And as I made my way towards the front door,
The sunlight glinted off a window,
Just so.
I think the cottage winked at me,
And yes,
The cottage door is as bright a blue in person as it is in the brochure.
Such a happy door.
Stepping through the door was like traveling back in time.
The entire house is quintessential,
Authentic cottage style.
Even the most cynical soul couldn't help but be charmed.
I'd worn my vintage silk scarf on the trip,
The lavender one with the hand-painted roses,
And it complemented the decor so perfectly.
I immediately turned and with a flourish,
Hung the scarf on the dragonfly hook by the door.
I took it as a sign that we belong here,
My hand-painted silk scarf and I.
As I moved further into the living room,
I noticed that the few boxes I had shipped ahead had arrived safely,
Stacked neatly near the stairs,
Each box efficiently labeled in bold letters,
With content lists beneath bedroom,
Pillow,
Duvet,
Sweaters,
Living room,
Books.
Well,
Two boxes of books,
Actually,
But just my favorites,
And I was glad I had brought them,
As the built-in bookcases were bare.
Even the quaintest of cottages is incomplete without books.
I was too eager to explore to bother with unpacking the boxes,
So I took the book I bought at the train station from my bag and propped it on an empty shelf,
Leaving it to lounge there until I unpacked the rest of my books.
Moving into the bright little kitchen,
I was delighted to see that the landlady had kindly provided refreshments.
A bowl of apples and bananas brightened the kitchen table,
A small tray of deli meats and cheeses tempts me from the refrigerator,
A loaf of homemade bread,
Homemade bread,
Waits on the counter.
I plucked an apple from the bowl and wandered towards the studio,
Surprised to find myself a little nervous.
The studio,
Mine for the next few months,
The whole reason I'm here.
I pause just to let that sink in.
I bite into the apple,
Juicy and tart,
Then hold it in my teeth as I swing open the studio French doors and stand in the doorway,
So bright and spacious,
Exactly as advertised.
The empty white walls and long workbenches seem as eager as I.
I envision the space filled with my mixed media supplies,
The shelves filled with found treasures,
Color,
Texture,
Magnificent handmade things.
Soon,
Soon,
I made my way upstairs to the bedroom.
It's quiet and cozy.
I can sit at the window seat and see the path through the trees that leads to the ocean.
Just the view had me taking a deep breath,
My shoulders relaxed,
Releasing tension like shrugging free of a heavy wool coat.
And then I discovered my first cottage treasure.
From the bedroom window,
I can see down to the back garden,
And there I noticed a laundry line cleverly nestled among the honeysuckle bushes.
I immediately unpacked the box with my bedding.
There was just enough of the day left to air out the linens in the garden.
I took my time hanging my sheets and then my duvet,
Marveling at the nostalgic experience of wooden clothespins and linens hanging on a line.
Soon the bedding was fluffed and fresh,
Smelling of honeysuckle and warm from the sun.
I fully expect to dream of magical gardens tonight.
As the sun began to set,
I thought about unpacking the rest of the boxes,
But the train's magic was still with me.
Slow down,
Slow down,
Slow down.
It's okay to slow down,
To take my time and savor unpacking,
Enjoy settling in.
As I write this,
A box marked art supplies in bright rainbow letters catches my eye.
I nod in its direction.
Tomorrow,
Tomorrow.
I've just finished unpacking the few things I brought with me on the train.
A change of clothes and toiletries,
Tea for the morning,
And a warm sweater,
Even though it's months before I'll need it.
I know you'll laugh and shake your head,
But it's the one with the nubby weave that's the color of toasted pumpkin,
The one you call my grandma goes to market sweater.
It reminds me of us,
Of cozy evenings at home and all the end of year art shows.
I've hung it on one of the pegs by the kitchen door where I can see it every day,
Waiting patiently for fall and having art to show,
Having my own art show.
It's been an extraordinary day,
Well-lived and scented with honeysuckle and possibility.
It is so good to have finally arrived.
Be well,
My love.
As I lay down my pen,
My gaze wanders to the window and the path leading to town.
Writing to you always restores me,
And I find I am eager to explore.
I can hear the sea calling just down the hill from this little cottage in the woods.
It is spring.
This is a new beginning,
And for now,
This is home.
I tuck my pen and paper away in the desk and welcome you back to this moment with me,
Perhaps stretching your arms above your head,
Flexing your feet,
Wiggling your fingers and toes,
Coming fully present,
Relaxed and at peace.
