The Study

There is a room in this house which smells of old books where the walls are lined with cherry oak shelves so heavily caulked with century old leather bound novels and essays that they seem to be the pillars which hold the sky above the earth.In a dark corner of the room lies a large oak table, solidly placed on the floor as permanent as Death's coming, an empty chair the entryway to this scholarly coffin of late night studies.Not quite opposite this corner dungeon lays a picture of opposite air—a window seat large as a couch with high arching windows overlooking the labyrinthine garden as a child looks over the counter at their grandmother's freshly baked and strictly forbidden pie.The third point of the room shall be a large fireplace of old and crookedly appearing stone with shaggy throw pillows the size of small tables on which to spend snowy winter evenings curled up with loved ones, good books, and ever ready cups of hot chocolate warmed right over the fire in an old black tea kettle that children say once belonged to the witch who haunts the garden during the dark early morning hours.