The lounge area of my home—also known as my study—holds a special place in my heart. I think of carpets, sofas, the comfort of visits from lifelong friends and family, the surprise of birth announcements of children. I remember family birthday parties that took place in my study with cake, blowing out candles, and the making of secret wishes. Spring with French doors open to the scent of roses and horse chestnut trees. In whispers, I recall funereal buffets with soft weeping.
My study is the silent home of my soul; of thoughts unspoken, turning into novels and poetry tapped out onto a plastic keyboard.
A sunlit room of oaken beams where dreams
Stream flowing through fresh windows,
Searching scarred shadows, papers shown, reams,
Of prose, doomed epitaphs, mellow.
Pastel portraits of animals long dead,
Haunting, dog running, flowers, fields,
The spring of adolescence, blossoms fed
On a winter of shattered innocence, concealed.
Figurines from ancient dynasties,
Pagan, Hindu, Buddhist, and Abrahamic,
hover in the mist of lost loyalties,
Whilst the Virgin steps on the serpent’s hiss,
Outside the dark Cathedral of Trees,
Inspires, bringing sorrow to its knees.
Copyright: Katy Walters
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Katy lives on the South coast with her husband and a loving hyper friendly dog who likes to greet and lick everyone on sight. She has a BA Hons (Psych) BA Eng.Lit. MA in Religion and Mysticism and a Hon Dr. Science for research into pain control.
She was a psychologist and hypnotherapist before changing direction for full time creative writing, Her main genres are historical romance, crime and science fiction.