My Quiet Place – The Places In Between

For a long time I coveted the idea of having a room of my own, but when I read that a room of her own didn’t bring Virgina Woolf solace in this life, and that Woolf committed suicide, the desire for a room of my own lost its luster. Instead I look for places in between-stolen moments-for my quiet place.

Some days those stolen moments are the forty-five minute drive down a one lane mountain road to the post office. Other days it is entering into the Zen practice of hand-washing a stack of dishes for an hour and a half while the chaos of the Captain,  the kids, and running a home business in too small a space whirl around me. My favorite slice of quiet is before the day begins. The Captain is up and bound to work and the stove top espresso maker, but I linger in that small space of time before the wheels of the day begin turning. I look out the window to the west toward the trees and coming weather. I hear the chickens, the goat, or the insistence of a cat at the door. I wait in silence choosing my moment to toss the covers aside and bolt out of bed.

Prompt:

This week we asked you to write about your quiet place. Where is it? What does it look like? What happens there? Our word limit was 200.

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6 thoughts on “My Quiet Place – The Places In Between

  1. Popping in from Write On Edge weekend link-up.
    A wonderful response to the challenge.
    I like that you described your quiet place as snippets of cherished solitude, fitted in between the hustle-and-bustle of your life, instead of a specific venue/location… this made it so real and extra-precious!

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