I recently visited Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater in western Pennsylvania. Wright described his design as organic architecture – a melding of nature and man. As I toured the home, I wanted to sit down and write. I yearned to send all the tour groups on their way so I could enjoy the sound of rushing water, feel the sunshine flowing through the open windows, see the treetops at eye level and taste the creative juices inspired by nature.
As I began my writing day this morning, I realized I didn’t have to take over Fallingwater and hold it hostage to my desires. I have a writing space in my own home with similar features. Our summer has been so hot, I’d become captive in the air-conditioned house. But this morning, fall is beating down the heat. I stepped out onto my second floor balcony, wiped off the table and began to write.
Suddenly, the words came easily after days of struggle, as I sat near the branches of three old maple trees. I gazed out at the wise willow in the backyard, and the sunflowers on the edge of our garden winked at me.
The birds chattered, happy to give me space in their home. One of them was so happy, he left a calling card on my notepad. The droppings remind me I am an organic writer, and all’s right (write) with my world.