Last November was bitterly ice-white; frozen, windy and cold. This year I haven’t even needed a coat yet. The only signs of the march of the seasons are the shortening days, denuded foliage, and berries glistening on a damply dripping holly tree.
Today the fog wrapped us in a thick blanket of dank grey, smothering any plans for a day outdoors. In truth, our only intentions were along the hibernation lines; a good roast lunch followed by chocohotpots for pudding, and a lazy afternoon with the very best company.
We’ve chatted, read stories to Kitty, chased her up and down her caterpillar tunnel, and sung tickling songs until she giggled for joy.
She discovered that godfathers give some of the best cuddles:
So much of my crafting is in hiding now, and I keep being distracted by a most exasperating jigsaw puzzle of a Renoir painting that H started and I’m trying to finish in a vague attempt to reclaim the dining room table, but this evening I finished a book, and I knit a little:
More grey, I know. The project is not yet fit for consumption but the book was excellent (and being a Persephone imprint, also wonderfully tactile).
Just don’t let me forget to plant the tulips because I didn’t realise it was winter yet!