Oh, my.

Its happened. I dreamed endlessly of homely comfort in India, of having a kitchen of my own to prepare wholesome meals, to prepare tea at whim, to pull vegies from the ground and make a soup! And now i have been sucked into a beautifully scenic and comfortable vortex, my body completely forgetting that in fact, I am traveling and living from a bag, and no I am not at home.

Woke this morning in the light-drenched attic room and read European fables and folk stories for a few hours listening to a morning storm, thunder which rattles with an echo unlike storms of Australia. Lost deep in faerytales I pondered whether i need get up at all? Oh, to get up and prepare fresh figs and raspberries for breakfast while watching the town and reading the news? To have a day spread ahead of me with a few options of Rest, to Write or Draw, to Read, Walk, Stroll, or perhaps spend more time in the kitchen, cooking the produce that appears in a constant stream from friends and gardens, (we now have a whole new over-sized zuchini to deal with). The living space is a cycle of cook, clean, cook, clean, rest, cook, eat, play music, eat, tea, rest, chat away.

I think I have to get on the road so as to not get too cosy here!!