linaewen | Sitting at my desk

Things are starting to look cozy in our little home at last. There are still plenty of boxes that need unpacking but I have managed to place them strategically about the place so that they don't interfere with my view of my nice house. The Christmas tree is amazingly useful at the moment, as a hide-all for the boxes stored behind it. ;-)

As I sit cozily wrapped, making lists of all the dear ones I want to be sure to write to and send cards to this holiday season (yes, I know I am late, but I still plan on doing it!), I am reminded of a poem that was written by my friend

estellye -- for me!

After reading it you'll get an idea of what I am doing today, when I'm not unpacking boxes -- writing letters and thoughts and lists and ideas, and thinking lovingly of my friends.

The Lady You’d Have Been
by GSS

She’d be sitting at a little desk with ornate dainty legs
Her skirts would spread and hide her feet
And keep them warm
Maybe she’d have a tiny footstool to keep them up off of the cold floor
The pretty wide plank board floor with the little rug
Gray and blue with pink rosebuds
And the footstool’s cover she embroidered for herself
With many tiny stitches one long winter by the parlor fire
Humming little songs without quite knowing she was doing it
Making her husband smile
And he would never bring it to her attention so she wouldn’t think to stop
Perhaps at her little desk there is a letterbox
With a carved lid
He made it for her as a present once and it is her favorite thing
And there is an inkwell with a blue bottle
She writes many things in the sunny part of the afternoon
Letters and thoughts and lists and ideas
While the light slants through her window with rays that are like solid things
Solid things that sparkle so she finds a list and with a graceful hand she writes
“Dust the library,” and adds a little flourish
But right now she has her letters to write to all her many correspondents
She would be quite pleased if she knew how eagerly they are anticipated
And how very badly they are sometimes needed
And also how they are saved and brought out when a day calls for treasures
Yes, she sits at her little desk in the sun
And she hums little songs or chews a bit on her pen
Searching for exactly the way to say, “I love you” today
And her feet aren’t a bit cold on her little footstool
She sits just that way the lady you’d have been if you’d been born another day