I dream of the life I could be living, riding the ebb and flow of mountains - breathing deeply of the air and sky and sea. I dream of daffodils and tall green forests, tiny cottages in a mystical wood. I dream of having less but gaining more, of clean rooms with comfortable well worn furniture, rows of books and the flicker of candle light. I dream of silence not broken by ticking clocks, but the songs of birds drifting faintly on the wind - the tinkle of chimes on a covered porch as I rock in a wooden Adirondack chair sipping hot tea beneath the stars.

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