Head Space

There is a place, a space in my head where only daydreams live. A space I retreat to when my senses need refueling. When my tired mind is ailing.

It is imagined and beautiful and calming and, most of all, mine.

I climb the stairs, running my hand slowly across the smooth stripped wooden bannister. As I near the top light floods through four giant skylights into the spacious attic. Sunbeams shimmer across the varnished floorboards. The air is refreshingly cool yet headily scented by a large glass vase full of freshly cut white lilies. The brilliant white walls reflect the natural light generously around the room.

Perfect light.

At the far end of the attic stands a partially painted canvas on an easel. An old dresser bulges with art materials. Paper, canvas, oils, acrylics, watercolours, charcoal, pastels, pencils, brushes, palettes, inks. All waiting to be turned into a flight of imagination. Sketch books are stacked randomly, each one filled cover to cover with ideas, swatches, cuttings and paintings.

The sunlight fades and then comes the rain. Each droplet pattering its hypnotic rhythm on the skylights. The brilliant light turns lilac as the clouds temporarily block out the sun. An old brown leather chair and a brightly coloured patchwork blanket offer a cosy retreat to read, sip hot milky coffee and indulge in a chocolate or five. The eaves are filled with books. Hundreds of multicoloured spines standing to attention. Each one inviting me to open it’s pages and revel in its tale.

I look out from the rain streaked window over the roof tops and in the distant sunshine glimpse the remnants of a fading rainbow.

This is my head space, a place in which I find comfort and inspiration inside a perfect daydream. ___________________________________________________________________

This piece was written for the ‘Writing Workshop‘ at ‘Sleep is for the weak‘.