It’s 7:30am and I’ve been up since 5:30am. Here I sit in my warm thermal pajamas, my bare feet are tucked up under me since my fuzzy slippers are on the floor and I forgot to bring down some socks this morning. The floors in this old house can be dreadfully cold in the mornings. I have a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea on the table at my elbow, waiting to be enjoyed. I really should go upstairs, shower and start my day for I have much to do in the next few days before my visitor arrives. But it’s just one of those days… perfect for curling up inside… so I’m putting off the inevitable.
We are having a windstorm. I can hear the wind howling down the fields out back, sighing and screaming around the house. It is finding each and every chink in the armor of this old cottage and soughing balefully. We are having sustained 35 mile per hour winds with gusts up to 45 miles per hour and, of course, it’s driving a fine icy rain. I can hear it shattering into the windows and doors…
This is the kind of day that just begs for a cozy fire and the company of a book to weave the spell of a good story all around you.
Alas… a fireplace is not to be had and the company of a book will have to wait… as the chores will not…