Awake early I sit for a while, watching the fire wake from warm slumber to dancing blue flame. All is quiet, but for the singing purr of two cats curled on my lap, a clock tick, the metal heating as the firelight grows. Inside my head rhymes. The Hart, he loves the high hills; The hare, she loves the woods; The knight loves his bright sword; The lady loves her will. Medieval, romantic.
Today there is not enough snow to stop the children going to school. Tom has an exam, seems a little worried by it. I want to paint, draw, stack more of the logs delivered yesterday, walk dogs and work on the walls of The House of Golden Dreams.
Cover of Judy Dyble's cd looks good.