Me Time

It is years ago that I found this place, yet still I visit when I need to be on my own with my own thoughts for a while in an unhurried time for lengthy consideration of life direction or planning.

The way in, is through a pair of large French interior doors that are in a wide corridor off to the left side. They could do with a coat of paint as is so often the case. Opening the first door of the pair I step inside and close the door behind me. It locks automatically. The interior is unlit but not totally dark; there is a window at the end of the small kitchen on the right hand side and as I step further inside to the main room there is a larger window in front of the desk and beyond that on the same side there are French doors that open on to a narrow stone terrace. 

The left side of the room is entirely bookshelves and there is a dado height solid panelled wooden barrier that separates the dining area from the entrance passageway bookcase. The table is old with canted corners but far from grand, the stain is wearing off and it is unpolished and has four sturdy but simple chairs around it. There is no pretence, the group is functional and that it all. There is a serving hatch to the kitchen. 

At the far end of the room there is a fireplace with a long mantle shelf over it and a painting hanging over the mantle with an unpretentious wall light on either side. Two armchairs face into the warmth with small tables at the side of them. There are no mirrors, no television and no phone.

The bedroom door is beyond the fireplace, where the wall continues a little, at a right angle to the French doors. The bedroom is uncluttered and is furnished only with basic essentials, a large double bed with tall night stands on each side, fitted cupboards are on the far side leading to the bath room.

My small apartment in carpeted throughout in a speckled rusty pink. There are floor length curtains at the windows and terrace doors in a similar soft shade.

Stepping out onto the terrace I can feast my eyes on beauty.  Directly in front of the ancient paved space, the hillside sweeps away in the luscious curve of a field of lavender, stretching out as far as the eye can see until the very top of the hill. To the right, a valley meadow gradually slopes down toward a small cove with a sandy beach meeting the sea. There is a narrow path wiggling this way and that, all the way to the waters edge.

Thus far, I have never stepped beyond the terrace in any direction as inviting as the warm air, the colour, light and perfume is. There is no need to because the reason I go there is purely to look at what is on offer but to sink gently back into the warmth, comfort and soft support that I hope will last for my forever. I have absolutely no recollection of ever leaving this place on any of the many visits to my minds-eye hidey-hole. 

 These are not my own photos I simply googled French Lavender fields.