Dormers

I’m looking out the window at a house with dormers. Three of them, sticking out of the roof, wishing all my life I lived in such a room. One would be fine; two better; three would be heaven on earth. A little cubby hole for books, maybe a globe right in the window nook; a rocking chair in the middle dormer for reading.

Could I have a small narrow winding staircase leading up to my room? Something over in the corner of the second-floor stairs leading to my door a few steps in.

I’ve always wanted a cozy spot just for me with those little windows hanging out over the roof with the interior jutting spaces. This might be it. I’ve lived in an attic before, finished, and played in the unfinished part – that was the most interesting place in the whole house. Trunks, a single window to the back yard.

When I’m driving around, I look at odd places to live. Not houses, but what anyone else might think of as strange buildings. We tend to live in the same little boxes, which does make for a certain comforting uniformity in our neighborhoods. Who wants a railroad signal tower down the block with someone living in it? Aside from me.

But we live in a country of a certain uniformity and the dormers beckon to me. The three little nooks & crannies, my own little space with the circular staircase leading up to that special room. Perhaps a reading stand to hold my dictionary, and another for my large atlas. Life could be worse.