#tiny house
Here in the lighthouse of the home
The third floor perched in the canopy
With an eye on the ridge across the valley
I write
Windows like portholes
Walls like a barn
And old decals from children long grown
The floor is of plywood
The windows hooked shut
Nails poking through a ceiling of oak
The birds roost close
To the wood they call home
Tapping on the beams
Of trees long gone
I hear the subtle grace
of soft paws coming close
And we both find comfort
In the rigidity of a simple roost
We’ve settled onto a pallet
Covered by a blanket folded flat
Our coats of fur and wool
Keeping out the cold
We’ve licked all our wounds clean
But we both rest better these days
Where we can’t be seen
Up where there are no dishes or bills
No musts or ought tos or stills
Just splinters and all the heat
the house below couldn’t keep
I’m writing a poem every day this December. I hope you enjoy some of them. I wrote this one listening to “Glory Bound” by The Wailin’ Jennys. And if you’d like to subscribe to the newsletter, click here.
TheTiny House Festival – which is exactly what it sounds like – implores you to ask yourself, “What do I actually need to be happy?”
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Snapshots from our van.
One of the tiniest storage areas in our van is the place where we keep our toothbrushes and toiletries. It was made by a happy accident, where two pieces of cladding overlapped, and it’s turned out to be one of the most useful things we have in our tiny home.
Follow the hashtag #Fromrusttoroadtrip to follow our van conversion project and our travels around Europe!
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