I am looking out the window at a tree. It has mottled bark decorated with frilly lichens. The branches are wiggly and irregular, held out like the arms of a child reaching up to catch snowflakes. It is a twiggy complicated tree.
I am too much inside rectangular walls these winter days. I wonder what harm it does the psyche to be inside most of our lives. All these flat, pale lifeless surfaces! Today I am wishing I was in a cabin in the forest. It would have a moss-covered roof and low eaves, windows on all sides, and the sound of water running. Natural wood walls and simple furniture would sooth the mind. It would be comfortable and warm inside, but much more closely connected to the outside than our fancy house. There would be less stuff in it, but outside would be all the riches of nature.