Title blurb

"From one LIGHT come many colors." ~GJ Dürrschmidt

Friday, April 20, 2012

My Perfect Paradigm (or, An Old Writer's Fantasy)

You and I living together in a
cozy, artsy, simple country home
with a view of sunrises/sunsets
nestled in a private wooded area
near a natural source of water
on a hilly ridge or mountainside
within minutes of a college town
rich in the fine and performing arts.

I’d be a professor and teach,
perhaps you might teach as well.
We’d have a studio for drawing,
painting, and yes, for sculpturing;
several nooks and crannies with
overstuffed chairs, perfect for
writing whenever inspired, or
selfish intimacy with a book.

 Eclectic wooden bookshelves in
every room, we’d be surrounded
by great authors and writings,
to educate, edify, and emulate;
to inspire unbridled, passionate
thoughts and writings; to broaden
our mutual human experience,
and enrich the quality of our lives.

 I’d have someone to provide for,
to nurture, mentor, and care for;
a companion, a help meet, a friend.
You’d have every bit of the same,
and the peace of mind of knowing
you always have a safe place to
call home, and a table blessed with
an abundance of food and love.

The cupboards would be filled
with nothing but healthy things.
You would slice, dice, and assist
in preparing our gourmet delights.
Over time you would become
the greater of the two chefs.
Meals together would be a fun
part of the celebration of life. 

Conversations around the table
would be plentiful and playful
sport for two fertile minds, with
topics as diverse as snowflakes;
perhaps not arriving at answers,
but delving deeper into questions,
each taking pleasure in having the
other to share life’s mysteries.

You would have your private time
and I would of course have mine.
My friends would be your friends
and your friends would be mine,
When it came to lovers, we’d each
have our own; but when it came to
love, what grew between us would
form an inseparable, eternal bond.  

~gj duerrschmidt

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1 comment:

  1. What sweet thoughts. What lovely sylvan dreams. Who could ask for more... and who could turn it down?