I wasn’t lost after all. I was just hiding in the garden, under a pile of leaves from last autumn, waiting to be rediscovered.
Today was lovely. I got up and sat on the front step (my favourite morning place) and drank tea (my favourite thing) and listened to a starling with a lot to say for himself. And I read a book (Ink, by Alice Broadway, who is a dear friend, which means that as I read I imagine her telling me the story, which is a lovely feeling) and it was good.
And these are are small and simple things. But when you are a person who gets SAD (seasonal affective disorder) every year and who comes back to life with the changing of the clocks and the lengthening of the days, small and simple things are to be treasured.
And so then we went to Rufford Old Hall (one of my favourite places) and drank tea and ate cake. And the two youngest made us laugh with silly stories and long conversations about Why Reading Is Good (one) and Why Reading Is Not Good (another).
And then they built dens, and climbed trees, and we sat in the sunshine and watched them. And then we came home and I gardened and got a spade and dug and my heart felt so full of happiness at the greenness and the loveliness that I realised that I used to take those feelings and those photographs and put them here, on my blog. So here they are. And here I am.