It’s 6:25 a.m. in the tiny house in the garden. I’ve been following the moon’s arc through the half-round window of my loft nest for the last hour as it rolls over in its down of clouds. Around 7:00 Camille’s rooster will stir, fill its lungs and crow its flock up from slumber. But the moon has not quite set. The sun has not risen. I am between worlds, myself.
It was social week at the wee house, the kind where genial activity trails a lighthearted wake scattering any too-serious efforts and leaving behind a warm glow. It’s all good. Such events provide extra motivation to address aesthetics that have languished near the bottom of my list, such as curtains for storage under box seat and kitchen sink and unpacking two boxes of bathroom/office miscellany that had been simply crammed under the vanity in my back closet. By the time the first group arrived, I had fallen newly in love with my tiny interior through just a few organizational upgrades. Sweet!