So the first week of June, I finally crossed the threshold of one of the little cottages in the photo at the top of the blog. Primrose, or #22, would be my writing cottage for six days. I know as a writer I’m supposed to have the words to describe experiences, but actually one of the reasons I wanted to write was to find the words….

If I had visited all the cottages that existed in the world before choosing a photo for the top of the blog, I don’t think I could have chosen ones that were any more “made for me” than the days’ cottages.

All exactly alike. I wanted to stay in the one on the end (which reminds me of a story I’ve written). That one was booked. Surprisingly and not, I loved being between two cottages. No matter which side I looked out, I could see another little cottage. It was like being on the inside and the outside at the same time.

The best thing about the cottage is the front room, the room that looks out on the ocean, the room with ten windows–five oceanside–the room with a large table right in front of those windows. Which, of course, is where I set up, and where I stayed until I could no longer see through the darkness.

Here’s a list of the contents of the ocean room:

  1. one wonderfully large table
  2. one lamp/tiny table combo
  3. three rocking chairs
  4. four chairs
  5. a boarded-up fireplace
  6. the only closet

Wood floors. Nothing on the walls except a high tide/low tide calendar that I consulted as if I lived by the tides.

At low tide a huge expanse of beach appeared. At high tide, it was as if, with one more push, the water just might cross the threshold too.

Spare, spare, spare. Room for all of my insides to come outside. Streetlight lamps on the walls. A screen door. The sound, smell, and sight of the ocean.

Other posts in the series: