The weeks of winter blur together, one after the other. The weather frames the stuff of life, work and home. We move through frost, wind, rain, sunshine, frost and rain again. I find myself with less to say, and more to listen to. We sit with big, momentous decisions and try our best to slow down, to understand each other. I walk and feel acorns crunching under my boots, mud squelching. I spy daffodil heads swelling, parrots and galas chattering. And still the the wood heater keeps us warm, my bedside piled high with books, our table laid with good food and the shenanigans of young people, the hardenbergia showers white pea flowers, the blueberry dotted with buds...
Making: a Steel Pinafore with sublime checked linen
Knitting: Rift Sweater for my (almost 40 year old) love
Baking: Frangipane tart with rhubarb and blackberries frozen in summer
Reading: Matrix by Lauren Groff and Bedtime Story by Chloe Hooper
Listening to: Rang Tang Ring Toon (and other whimsical tunes) by Mountain Man
"You will indeed go out with joy and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.
Instead of the thornbush, a cypress will grow,
and instead of the brier, a myrtle will spring up;
they will make a name for the LORD,
an everlasting sign, never to be destroyed.”
ABOUT the author
Emily Clare Sims is a farmer and mama to three young boys. Each day she looks for ways to notice beauty, contemplate her faith and savour the seasons...