Not Quite Amethyst

I want to live a house that feels like water and possibly exists in the French countryside. There will be a stable and three horses in the back, a long driveway, and forest with a brook surrounding the property. At any given moment friends and neighbors will be freely coming to and going from my house sharing stories or meals at will. They will often find me having just made a pot of tea or with a bottle of red wine while dressed in a light bathrobe, a tank top, flowing pants and some loose tendrils of hair. Sometimes I will disappear for days and no one will know where I went except for the folks I happen to have absconded with. The main bit of local gossip about me will the odd way which I don’t seem to have a job or some sort of work to sustain this way of life. Little will everyone know that I have a secret printing press in the basement or old shed which I use to make papers for eccentric organizations and lucrative old business men. I may be having a weekly tryst with the delivery/mail man.