Anna dreamt of country home and place, place not of wilds but one of lived and cultivated color. Colors of land, leaves of the trees through seasons and change, pastures and garden in bloom—eclectic in source hues; coalesce of divergences brought together by history and living of a place, lineages of name, lineages of blood of which was part and felt her spirit called in return so that lineage, colors, and history would not die—eclectic of the colors, flowers of life, forsaken and submitted to the dying beige of chemical kill that colored the lifeless harvest of modern agriculture, modern life, ever-encroaching and ready to seize whatever lineage and life no longer guarded in defense.
She could make the home as dreamed—each room with spirit unique in its own and, too, belonging natural to the greater whole; same as the souls that made it home—his and hers and those, of love, that would come in life’s creation.
Anna dreamt the country home and place and the light of evening shade when sun shone through cast and break of the trees as living, breathing, signing prayer engaging to the soul.
That is where she dreamed to be, home and life she sought to make—unique of rooms and created souls refined of a living love lasting in a lineage.
That is where she dreamed to be. Anna felt its beckon then: eclectic of blooms, eclectic of rooms, love and life in its many hues.