Cabin. Creek. Prayer for the future.

In my perfect world, I live in a cabin on a creek. A cabin with a water wheel that provides all of the power I need to sustain my cushy life.
The cabin is built from bookshelves and occupies a piece of beautiful flat land, land with good, South-facing bones, somewhere in the Appalachian mountains.
There is a pasture for the horses, who get ridden every day on mountain trails and are happy and fat and sleek with the grooming and love.
My children all have their own little cabin here, in my back yard, with room for themselves and their future children to come for a visit. A visit for as long as they want or need.
There are permaculture gardens and a red yurt for Priestess circles and Maidens circles. There are tiny altars everywhere made of stones, of old photographs, of the spirits of the land, of books.
Every night I fall asleep to the sound of water.
Every morning I awake to the smell of the woods.
Let it be so.

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