Of getting the paint out to create yellow-hued doors and splashes of sunshine.
Of wading through warm shallows with red painted toes and time on my side.
(Tuscany, although I don’t mind finding myself somewhere equally nice. Never let it be said that I’m fussy.)
Of the day this book is available in paperback; I won’t be leaving the house until I’ve finished it.
Of silly-but-awesome kitchen equipment that will make me smile as I ladle out yet another warming and wholesome soup.
Of a garden filled with daffodils that nod and dance, rather than mud and grass and muddy grass.
Of finally finishing my crochet blanket. This may take a little longer than March to arrive. Especially when pesky cats keep me company.
Of wandering around this exhibition with the Teen who, I feel, should always be encouraged to reach for the moon.
Of Amsterdam. My head is full of Amsterdam and planning my first ever solo holiday. Scary and exciting and new.
As we approach the arse-end of the year (February – ugh, I loathe February and it’s misleading hints of spring) and I tire of casseroles and stews and trying to find new ways with pearl barley, I need to be reminded that sunshine, birdsong, blossom on the trees, some other vegetable than swede and fewer than 4 layers of clothing before I leave the house is just a few short weeks away.
(Images found on pinterest via 1. homestoriesatoz.com; 2. cntraveller.com; 3. animicausa.com; 4. panoramio.com; 5. gutenberg.org; 6. pinspopulars.com)