from A Year of Morning Thanks
A room of one's own
There’s one little basement window above my head and to the right. On mid-winter days, the sun rides so low in the southern sky that for a time in early afternoon that it shines directly in my face, which means I can't work here--at least not on the compueter. Any other time of day or year, this little corner of my basement is a sweet place to sit—warm in winter, cool in summer.
There is, after all, comforting silence all around, the opportunity to be very much alone. Virginia Woolf forever linked the phrase to the plight of women artists, but she’ll forgive me, I think, if I abscond with it right now because I think the necessity of what she points out—that we all need our own space—transcends greatly the gender wars. Everybody may well know your name in your neighborhood Cheers, but solitude is not only a blessing, but a joy—and it’s a requirement for the work I do.
So, this morning, here, in this corner of my basement, early in the morning, I’m thankful for a room of my own. And yes, it’s a mess.