Country girl

I am a country girl wanting to live in the city, but quite enjoying living in the countryside. In fact, I don't really know who I am, what I'm here for. Clueless.

Here I watch life go by. This will be my 15th winter. Many a time I have watched the seasons change, seen the colour of the trees nestled in the hills mutely go from bright green, to the musky tones of autumn. Felt the cold, brisk air whip my face as I potter around outside, stones underneath my feet. Sat inside, the fire crackling beside me, the sound of a thousand cracking, splitting sticks filling the house. I place my elbows on the white-painted windowsill, the row of vanilla-scented candles on my left, a gold sprayed picture frame on my right. Sat for hour upon hour, the vapour trails of planes morphing and moving, unsettled against the clear blue of the sky. Smelt coffee and watched a hundred different people when they see the view over the hill. That magnificent view. Felt the nightfall arriving, watched the clouds fade into the pending blackness. Watched the smoke rise from chimneys, heard the owls chirp, the conkers fall. Kicked aside the brown leaves on the cracking tarmac to reveal old, dry stone walls, crumbling under the weight of a thousand years. 15 times I have stared out of this window, observed this life in the countryside. Changed my perspective, so, suddenly, I am smiling back at myself, my reflection framed against the blackness of dusk, the tall bookcase behind me, the soft glow of the lamp on the wooden table, the big, green leaves of the plant in front of me opened wide to the hidden sun. These are the days I enjoy so much, when I can appreciate the life I have so much more. Away from this city headache. Appreciated all the beauty. Breathed in deeply, simply because I can. Marvelled at the golden windows of the house on the hill. Moved more slowly, surrendered to this strange fear of actually living your life. Scratched my pen over this book, sat cross-legged, in my room, the curtains wide open, the bedside lamp on, the stars smiling down at the people spotting shapes, patterns between them, telling stories.
Padded down the wooden hallway, towards another full bookcase. Enjoyed my own company, feeling like the British Isles are so very big, with me, so incredibly small. A dot in this ocean. Alone when I walk around these rocky hills, breathing bursts of cold air back out, until it clears, so my view is wonderful once more. Taken things slowly, stopped thinking about tomorrow, next week, next year. Stopped thinking. Stopped.