The room is covered in walnut walls that meet the ornate tray ceiling. It hangs over the haze of the morning rays streaming through the hatched windows. There is a smell of leather and cigar hanging in the air like a memory from years past.

 

Books filling shelves that seem to fade into the ceiling, as high as wide. Gold writing on canvas wrapped novels, each one tells a story of energy spent on love and chaos, wilderness that only exist in the mind and fortunes from treasures in distant land.

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This was the moment Rupert was born, spending time in that space filled my mind with a creative burst, I wrote and sketched and then my therapist called me in.

 

Moments like this can happen anywhere, you just have to be aware of them and capture it.