Across the world luxury is going to mean something different to everyone. A private jet? Or maybe clean drinking water?

But the word FREEDOM begged to be written for my response.

Today I chose to copy a poem by W H Davies, a Welsh poet and wanderer. His book The Autobiography of a Super-tramp is interesting.

At this moment I am sitting on the sofa with the dog asleep at my side. The sky is overcast and it’s blowing a gale. The french windows are securely open wide. The fresh air rushes in and out taking light billowing curtains with it. A blackbird and a few pigeons are finishing up their breakfast and the squirrel is digging up some potted chives to hide his stash- word is squirrels forget where they put 50% of their swag. Who’d have thought it?

I’ll brew fresh coffee now and exercise some remaining grey matter before anything else on my list of ‘ things to do, if I want to’. This my friend is luxury!

Edit; the wind blew away most of the clouds, the dog awoke and went outside to catch some sun…

It has been a long time coming, this kind of peace.

I’ve enjoyed reading what others in my newly-found WordPress family have had to say is their idea of luxury.

Dear Reader, what is yours?