This day asks for softness, and I answer it gladly. The cold rests firmly beyond the windows, while within, the low murmur of soothed sheep and distant nature sounds fill the cool air, as though the countryside has drawn nearer for company. And so I remain indoors, tending the quieter labours that keep a home in good spirits.
I write behind the scenes and put small things gently in order — work that does not announce itself, yet leaves the rooms calmer for its presence. I refresh the bedroom as one might smooth a well-loved petticoat, not for show, but for comfort. Gardenia candles scent the rooms, their sweetness lingering like a fond memory.
My knee, ever the honest companion, asks for a slower pace, and I listen. There is grace in yielding to such counsel. Bread rises upon the counter, patient and warm, and the kitchen answers with that familiar fragrance which feels like reassurance itself. As it bakes, I think of the weekend ahead and set small things in readiness, content in the knowing that preparation is its own quiet joy.
Winter does not rush us, my loves. She invites us to move with care, to keep the light, and to rest without apology.
Is this it?
Until later,
I remain yours,
in still water and candle glow.
LR
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