A Shed of My Own
We saw sheds like chalets with their own balconies and fancy-looking roofs
then sheds like stores; utilitarian little numbers eschewing windows except for light, sensibly-beamed, sombre, down-to-business
then sheds called cabins, smoothly finished, with perfect windows and perfect doors, tiled felt roofs, and enough room for a family of two or three to live for a week or two - or maybe a life-time - in adequate comfort
and then, at last, my shed. Eight feet by eight feet, three small windows on one side and two more and a door on the other. My place. We stood for sometime and listened to the rain beating on the roof; a comforting sound that somehow made me feel safe. No balcony, but leaded lights. Room for a desk, a chair and a lamp, and the resinous smell of wood and the hissing of a gas heater. No internet connection, no phone and no excuse.
It is something I used to talk about to my former agent, and now, at last, I am making it real - before the end of April.