Writing room

Detail of my front window (photo by Elizabeth Snowden)

On summer weekend days and early evenings, I write almost exclusively in the barn, but at night and in the winter, I write mostly in an upstairs room. When I look up from my desk, I see these fabrics and the reed shade that obscure the front window. The room is filled with art and imagery, Buddhist objects, books, a 1950s radio tuned to a local jazz station, a stereo with two wonderful old KLH speakers, and my new Turkish carpet. The room is a little more than 12 feet square. Its motifs date back to my childhood, reproduced over time in an evolving but still recognizable form.