A room with a view.

The crown of trees looms below my window. Birds fly from one branch to the other in flippant mood tweeting and screeching. I’m envious at how free their life is, liberated from troubles and burdens to feed their little ones for the morrow.

From where I sit, my view is quiet vividly clear. I’m proud to say this is my favorite place in the whole world. I have a black swivel chair that could run toward my right where I stack my books on a shelf, and easily within reach pick anyone of them at will.

In front is my ever reliable personal computer. This is where I spend most of my time mulling and scribbling all the thoughts that come from my inspiration. In winter time I sneeze and cough at the screen and I receive no complaints. Sometimes without any reasons it complains, though, and bogs down. They said it got the virus. That’s when my headache comes.   Then I would have to bring it to someone to rid it of the virus. Without it I’m terribly useless. I couldn’t write and my thoughts fly away to distant niches in my mind.

Above my personal friend is my dear printer. Sometimes my friend orders it to make copies of things that I do, churning all the words that come out of my thoughts into paper. When my friend orders it to do a lot of work, my dear printer runs out of the black fluid. Then I would swear at the top of my voice why it happens at the wrong time. I’m confident it doesn’t bark back at me when this happens, otherwise I would lose the little sanity that is left in me

Books, books and books clutter around them, but they don’t complain of the little space they share with each other. Sometimes I thought they were complaining of the bawling and wailing of the two speakers behind them, but they weren’t.

This is my little nook, the little world where I spend most of my days.

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