Camelot, my Camelot...a castle to call my own...or just...a cabanon.
I was thinking earlier today that my life has hardly been linear. And while I know in my head that every moment has been a result of a previous choice plus the occasional bolt of luck, looking back it does seem all over the map. Literally. Nomad me, even in society.
So perhaps that is why I long for something solid, a little hideaway to call my own where I can live as I please. One that won't suddenly disappear and will offer the same joys year after year.
My companion, whose jolts and dashes have been erratic as mine, feels the same. So we go hunting, cabanon hunting in Provence. It seems the perfect landscape, lavender fields, olive groves. And there they are, those often abandoned buildings, small enough to be our doll's house. Just the size for dreaming and an afternoon nap.
We scour them out, we chase across distant fields to find them. In our minds we fix them up, we argue over where the kitchen would go. We own them even if it is only in our cabanon dreams.
I don't need a castle. Nor perfection or idealism. No swords drawn out of a rock. Or miracles at all save for the everyday kind...
Shaking out the sheets on a line, pulling tomatoes, toes buried in the grass next to the one I love.
I am not there yet, but I am not far either. If my life has not been linear, who knows, perhaps I am closer than I think?
Today's post was my little "Hello!" as part of the series By Invitation Only, in which bloggers around the world share their interpretations on a common theme, this month's being "Camelot."
To see the other wonderful posts, please do click here. There are such talented women in this group and we will be on break until September.
Come on, there is nothing wrong with dreaming is there?