Today my apartment is quiet, and there is dappled light all across my desk from the sun and trees blowing. The neighbors are not home, and I have a pretty lamp on with a leopard-spot shade. There are pink flowers in my garden, and a cold light that wants to be spring. I have bright pink and orange rugs from Turkey and India- a gift from my father- and patterns of my work all over the floor. In these moments I want to cry because I realize I am living the life of my dreams. In these moments I can pour myself into my work because there is solitude, and quiet, and space. Later I will join my friend for dinner, and tell her all about the things I made.