I’m a little too good at this.
Tea in the morning. French grammar, needlework, a stub nib pen with jade green ink; a walk in the garden in sturdy shoes.
I could be Jane Austen’s neighbor.
Lunch will be lentils and chicken soup. Later maybe some Chopin preludes.
And more tea. Maybe a cookie. I should probably call it a biscuit.
At bedtime – silver silence out the window. No traffic, no parties, no wayward laughter from a conversation somewhere nearby. Not even coyotes right now. I will sleep deep and well.
Yes, I’ll stay inside. And enrich myself.
It’s all a little too easy.