rhodrymavelyne

Tears pour down my face when I revisit the water colours of Beatrix Potter in her stories, revisited in the animated series. Always there’s a cottage. Niamh Cusack as Beatrix Potter sits outside, painting, surrounded by various animals until it begins to rain. She gathers herself and her things, retreating into her cottage for some tea and story, talking to her various animal companions as she does.

It’s such an ideal which impresses itself upon me, tied up with innocence and safety. It becomes more and more precious to me as I age, becoming less so.

What would we do to have such a peaceful retreat? What would we sacrifice to have it? To create such a space for others?

I’ve seen other cottages which offer such shelter. The one in the Ridley Scott movie Legend until it was invaded by winter and goblins. Such a cottage Shan took shelter within to heal his wounds in The Crown of Silence by Storm Constantine.

Such a cottage exists in my own Omphalos. Innocent creatures forget their shadowy origins within its walls, finding love, family, and peace.

At least they do until the world intrudes upon them, dragging them back or changing them. It’s a concept as old as the fairytale princess fleeing from her terrifying situation to take refuge in a cottage. It doesn’t last. It can’t.

Even if it’s an illusion, it’s nice to feel safe. Especially when there’s a lot of danger, lurking in the world.
Maybe this is part of the reason I cry. The cottage isn’t truly safe, but I wish it was. For a quiet moment, I can pretend it is.

Such quiet moments are luxuries. Not everyone gets them. Not everyone appreciates them. How much happier would the would be if they did?

Maybe this is another reason I cry.