I wish for a haven, a close, warm lodge smelling of cedar and wood smoke, a pile of blankets to wrap in, and chamomile tea and wassail bubbling hot in the cast iron kettles above the fire. I wish for an herb garden outside, buried now in the snow, but blooming bright in the spring sun and soft rain, beneath the shadows of the tall pines on the mountainside. I wish for clean air and sharp wind and the water leaping and tumbling among the smooth stones, for weathered boulders pushed from the ground into a world covered with thick moss and green ferns, for breathtaking skies in the clear morning and living nights of wonder and secrets. I wish for the smooth roughness of an unmarked page, for the quiet thrilling strokes of pencil and brush, and for the delight of the written Word. I wish for the movement and grace of song, strength and beauty bringing truth, rhythm and harmony making mysteries unspeakable and speech unnecessary. I wish to sleep quietly in the arms of he whose I am who is mine, as our Lord and Father looks down from above and breathes His benediction. For the earth is the Lord's and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it; for He founded it upon the seas and established it upon the waters. Blessed be the name of the Lord.