Writing, writing, writing - of woods, wells and wishes. Discovering red hats and scissor necklaces. Radio ideas. Twin Peaks. Illness and cherries. Warm banana bread and pages of Waugh. Best of all; on Sunday it snowed. As a Narnian the chill, ice, cold breath, freezing fingers and thick drifts feels homely. Snow is normalcy, Celtic and magical. It clarifies my thoughts and fills me with hope. Yesterday I felt nothing in the world could trouble me as I drove north, under glass branches and frosted sky, and arrived at work to see Ben Y Vrackie white with snow.
In a moment I will tear cellophane off a new book. In another moment I'll have a bowl of porridge with warm milk. Simple joys.