A Painter's Paradise

Pausing a moment to reflect back over a decade of traumatic transitions, I find myself hesitant to trust a tentative sense I may have actually found a home I can settle in comfortably a while. Apparently I’ve become far too accustomed to that perpetual sinking sensation of solid rock underfoot crumbling into quicksand; that familiar feeling of floundering through dense fog in a cold and stormy ocean. No boat. No float. Just a sheer bloody-minded force of breath keeping the torso afloat, and arms and legs moving… eyes fixed on the horizon, seeking that guiding light home…

Finally! - I hope! - I’m coming home... and here it is: the view from my front porch — the view I’ll be waking up to after just a few more sleeps, and many mornings thereafter, at least for as long as I can hold on to this wee little oasis of solid ground.

Nestled between no less than three of the Pacific North West’s most magnificent volcanic mountains, this place is truly a pristine Painter’s Paradise with a WOW-factor overload around every car-free bend in the road. It’s a place to breathe again, a space to dream again. A welcoming hearth and home in which to heal and restore anew.

I am Truly. Wholeheartedly. Grateful.