My writing desk is gorgeous.
It's a vast expanse of wood, painted a sea green, and topped with thick glass. I bought it from my favorite yoga studio, bringing a bit of my experiences there into my life now.
Being here is like being on a green island, trees and leaves hanging outside every window, floating in an ocean of words and possibilites.
In winter, like now, it's almost too cold to work here. The air coming off the sliding glass door is chilled, and the glass top holds the cold, and seeps into my arms and hands as I type.
But it's still a beautiful corner dedicated to my future life.