A winter's evening in the haven.
To enter the safe,
Kind and magical world of the Haven.
First find a time and place where you will not be disturbed and sit or lay down you can also use this just before you go to sleep.
Close your eyes and breathe normally.
Allowing your muscles to relax.
Focus on your breaths and allow yourself to drift deeper.
Toward that state.
Which allows you to drift into quietness.
Take a deep breath and as you exhale,
Feel yourself settling deeper.
Into a quiet place within.
You are just stepping into your home in the haven.
Closing the door on the winter afternoon.
A few flakes of snow are beginning to form.
As you walked up the lane.
You could feel them settle on your face and then vanish.
A little melting touch of ice.
You take off your outside clothes.
And let the warmth of the house embrace you.
Your dinner has been cooking gently in the hot pot all day.
And now you go into the kitchen and serve it up,
Lingering over the hot meal after the chill of the day.
After you take a hot drink into what you call simply your snug,
A small room opposite the It could be called a study.
A small library.
A work.
It is cosy with books.
A fire.
A comfortable chair.
And a table beside it.
You have already begun to put up your decorations.
And they gleam softly.
Red.
Green and silver.
Gentle watercolour paintings are touched by the warm glow of the lamp.
And in this room.
You also keep your gifts from the haven.
Items given to you or found.
The old lady mentioned that the artisan was going to make you a beautiful wooden box to keep them in The snow is falling more thickly now.
Each flake drifting lazily to the ground in the still air.
Already the grass of your lawn has a white patina The sky has deepened to a soft,
Smoky lavender.
With the last light of day slowly fading.
All is calm.
Hushed by the first snowfall of the season.
As if the whole world is sighing out a gentle breath.
You close the drapes,
Shutting out the approaching night.
Winter is a time to permit yourself to rest.
The light in the room is low and soothing.
The fire crackles quietly in the hearth.
Sending flickering shadows across the room.
Casting everything in a golden glow.
You place your cup on the table.
Next to the chair.
And sit down.
Settling into those soft cushions.
Drawing a soft throw over you.
The warmth embraces you like a gentle reassuring hug.
You take a sip of your drink.
Savouring the taste.
Letting the scent rise up to fill your senses.
Every sip melts through you,
Relaxing you into the quiet peace that comes before sleep.
The only sounds in this little room are the quiet,
Rhythmic ticking of an old clock and the occasional pop and crackle.
From the logs on the fire.
These sounds are gentle.
Comforting.
Part of the slower.
And simpler pace of life in the haven.
There is a journal and pen on the little table.
Often you will pick it up when you come into the room and note down your thoughts,
Perhaps sketch.
Laying the tea aside.
You open the journal and begin to write.
The words flowing.
Memories and hopes.
After a little while you pause and sit back.
Looking around the room at the colours.
The familiar things that you love.
Everything in this house.
Seems to have been specially designed for you.
From all the times when,
Out in the world,
You saw something that you would love to have in your home.
When you came here,
The house that waited for you contained all those things in perfect harmony.
With one very special edition.
And knowledge of complete safety.
The fire crackles.
The clock ticks.
The snow falls.
And you feel utterly at ease.
You let your muscles loosen,
Stretching out your feet and exhaling.
Outside,
The wind begins to rise.
As you walked back from the village with the old lady.
She sniffed the air.
And predicted the snow.
And later a storm.
But storms are never a problem in the haven.
Where the lanes and paths are always cleared.
Either by the villagers.
Or sometimes you feel by the subtle enchantment of the place itself.
However it may be,
No one in the haven is ever concerned by the weather.
You can hear the wind in the chimney stack curling around the windows.
You think you can even hear the very soft tick of snow against the glass in the room.
The lamp and firelight seem even warmer,
More cosy.
There is a faint,
Subtle scent of beeswax and candles.
And the smell of applewood slowly burning into glowing embers.
In the morning,
You know you will wake to a world of pristine whiteness.
Perhaps you will take the pony trap if it is still snowing.
Or if not.
You might walk to the inn,
Where the villagers will be talking about the weather.
Checking on neighbours?
Clearing their paths.
And ensuring that the kind,
Quiet life of the haven continues.
On such snowy days.
The inn provides hot drinks and food to everyone who comes in from the cold.
But for now.
.
.
You listen to the wind and the fire.
Glad to be here in the embracing warmth of your home.
Where you need to do nothing but relax.
Cozy and safe.
The sounds lull you deeper into relaxation as the fire softly burns down.
And the old clock ticks.
The wind blows.
Sleep.
Good sleep.
