An article in the Sunday NYT about a date orchard reminded me of a time, far away and long ago, when I spent the night in a date grove. I don't believe I understood how magical a place it was till I awoke. Quite a sight to behold first thing in the morning.
Another time I slept in a tree house built around an apple tree in an orchard. There were bushel baskets of apples everywhere and the smell was intoxicating. I thought, I'll never forget this. I have a bowl of apples by me as I blog and they smell like that night.
I've slept in a tepee on an Indian reservation, another night or two in a geodesic dome built by my good friend Julia, and spent a night at Arcosanti , staying with a friend who was working on the project for the summer.
And now I sleep in a small bedroom in an old brass bed with a snoring dog on the floor below me. She sleeps on a pile of sheepskins. The wall behind me is freshly painted a purple blue called mystery. The other walls are painted a white with a touch of red called pink slip. The room is on the east side of the house and the sun wakes me up each morning.
These are the best nights sleep I've ever had. There is no place like home.
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