Outer Hebrides: The House

I see a house through the mist
You know; the kind of house children draw
Four windows
Door in the centre
Otherwise a rectangular box
With a roof

I wonder: is life in a simple house simple?
No fuss, no add-ons, no fancy ‘wouldn’t survive the winter-storms anyway’ conservatory
Two chimney stacks on each gable-end
The smell of burning wood
Warmth that cannot dispel the slight smell of dampness

If you think about it
A house
It’s that simple, four walls
A roof, some source of warmth, water

I am sitting underneath the canape of our tent
Four walls and a roof of sorts
But we forgot the little space heater
Also our temporary abode sways with the wind
Flaps its wings
It hums a song
I heard too often
‘You cannot escape your life choices.’

But for now things are simple

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