Okay, I do realise Komorebi is only a garden shed, and photos of other people’s garden sheds aren’t all that riveting. Even so . . .
Things look a bit stark right now. As time goes on and the trees we have planted get bigger, she will be tucked inside a green and growing place.
In the morning the sunlight comes round that corner of the garden. The back of Komorebi stays in shadow – cool in summer. Right at the back the bokashi bins for Stage 1 composting will be stored; tucked out of sight in the all-year cool. From my nest inside, the view in the morning is this.
Komorebi is nearly at the bottom of our garden, leaving just room for a little quiet space to think and be. It has a leaf composting pile in it at the moment, but that will be moved.
All around her are trees – an ancient wild apple, two birches, two hollies and a hawthorn, as well as the great ash trees in the land over the wall.
The veranda is important for keeping wood for the little stove dry and accessible, and for sitting outside on rainy days.
Next to be done is insulating and cladding the inside, and painting the outside with weather-proofing stuff. I wanted creosote but they no longer sell it to ordinary people, so we have got Sadolin in that kind of dark brown of woods in winter.
I am away this weekend, and acutely conscious of how close we are flying with all that remains to be done in getting Komorebi ready. The winter weather is on its way. I want to begin this in the cold, not the summer days, because the sense of the year turning is so momentous as one comes from the darkness into the light, hearing the songbirds in spring and watching the unfurling of the leaves. And the privation of cold and dark are so deep and strong. Living inside a regular house it feels like just something to get through; but to meet it, enter it properly, is a spiritual thing. When I lived in a caravan in Devon, even though it got so bitterly cold I liked to sleep right by the open window on a frosty night, so I could see the clear shining of the stars and fall asleep knowing nothing stood between them and me, no wall, no pane of glass; we were together.