Picture this, a house that is built over a continuously flowing stream. The stream runs through about five acres of pristine coniferous forest, redwood of some sort, either cedar or douglas fir. We are in a coastal area, where winters are not so cold as to freeze, and the precipitation is high enough to maintain lush moss that covers the forest floor in an evergreen carpet.
The house is a concrete or stone construction. The library itself sits in a portion of the house that rests over the stream, and contains large south facing windows that allow a full view of the magnificent falls below. The interior of the library is finished in warm wood tones, and contains several ceiling height book cases, upon which rest my collection of important tomes.
The space is of course climate controlled and hermetically sealed so as to provide the ideal environment for the preservation of such precious and perishable works. There is a fireplace, but it is no longer used, as the potential to damage the books is just a little too high. Before it are several comfortable chairs. In the middle of the room, facing the windows is a large antique desk, upon which rests an old fashioned typewriter.
The desk also contains all the necessary paraphernalia that a writer could want. Ink, paper, ribbons, pens, pencils, quills, and a variety of other potentially useful instruments. These are concealed, but always at the ready should inspiration strike. A sleek silver laptop rests to one side, but it remains folded and compact. Of course if the project should require it, more elaborate computer equipment is available in the adjoining office space.
The entire room hums mildly with the churn of the water below. It is not a large river, but the falls and rapids do cause something of a stir. The sound is comforting. It blocks out the world of noise, enfolding one in the meditative frequency of nature.
The Wild 
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