While reading the August 1993 issue of
House Beautiful last night,
I came across THIS sentence, and my heart leaped:
"The farmhouse seemed a retreat far from the world—a place where an ascetic aristocrat
might
retire to read philosophy and reorder his soul."
Ours is not a farmhouse;
nor am I an aristocrat...
but in every other way,
I believe this is the inner ideal that I have long held
for my surroundings.
I look around me and see bits and pieces of just such a
"retreat from the world".
Like me, our house is a work in progress--
a place AND a soul reordering itself.
a place AND a soul reordering itself.
Always evolving.