Is that house in the picture above not a beautiful home? I always loved wrap around porches like that. This house happens to be in Brooklyn, though I'm sure people never imagine such houses there. What would it be like to look out from that turreted room and write and dream? Maybe I'd get lonely. I might miss the surging humanity of city life happening just outside my door. I don't actually have to go out and be in it. Just knowing I can do that at any moment is enough for me most days. I actually really like my house on those days, though it is only a modest fifth-floor apartment. But the windows are large and look out at trees. The light in my living room was beautiful this morning, and outside the window in front of my desk, branches in full leaf swayed almost poetically in a lazy breeze. The voices of little children from the nursery school downstairs floated up to me, and I could hear the faint noise of construction in a distant part of the building. I felt peacefully alone and gently accompanied at the same time. That's how it feels on a good day. Today was a good day.