As I write this, I am sitting snuggly in a cushy arts & craft or mission styled chair in front of a fire.
The raised hearth and stone veneer rise upwards toward a vaulted, two story ceiling. The fireplace consuming the entire corner of the room.
The prairie style architecture very suited to the view from my chair.
On each side of the fireplace, there are windows that extend almost from the floor to the ceiling and overlook a large, slightly wooded prairie.
The snow is falling and a a white blanket covers heavy on the straining grass.
The north side of the trees are also wrapped in white and display the direction of the wind.
The entire trees do a dance when the force of the winds hits them. The remaining leaves shiver in the breeze as small droplets of melted snow hang fragile on the drooping and quivering branches.
The broad, spent flower heads collect snow from the air as the large flakes attempt to get past. And a small white layer accumulates on the protected roof of a Bluebird house.
The calendar is approaching the middle of November, so I shouldn’t be surprised with snow where I’m at.
But where am I at?
Have I traveled to northern Wisconsin and am now vacationing in a lodge overlooking an open prairie?
I am snug and warm in the Verona Public Library.
A good selection of books and magazines, and pristine view out the back.
I wonder if anyone would notice if I hid in the restroom as they lock up and just called this home?