Sunlight Returns.

It seems the sunlight has returned to our little corner. The cold, thin winter sun is beginning to fatten up with light and warmth.



It stormed last night. I found myself waking to the wind whistling around the house, lying in the dark, wondering if our newly planted little pear tree would still be in one piece in the morning.

It was.



And the sun came out. And although it was still definitely a Blustery Day up until late afternoon, by dinner time, the door was open, the sun, and the air, and the calm breeze crept in. And for the first time in months we forgot to light a fire.

My heart rejoices.

Time's Up.

So. The holidays are over.

The clothes are laid out. Lunch boxes wait quietly on the kitchen table.
Alarm clocks set. Sleepy, clean scented heads on clean pillows.
The trudge begins in a mere few hours.

We all felt a bit dejected today.

We cleaned and tidied and organised, but without spirit.
The Easter tree is put away for another year.
The last traces of holiday swept away.
Last crumbs of chocolate pressed on their fingers, licked clean.

School tomorrow.

Just let me pause for a moment first...

My View.

I've lost count of the number of times I've posted this view. The thing is, I never tire of it. Even after nearly twelve years.

It changes, not just by the day, but by the hour. It's my barometer, my soother, my anchor. And it makes washing the dishes a nicer experience!



There's the Sugarloaf. And Slaughter Hill. Djouce in the distance. And the little Sugarloaf. And all the way over to the north, Bray Head. They can't all be seen in this picture. Some days none can be seen. (For more moments of this view have a look here).

But it's my constant. Always there. And it reminds me that even with all the different weather fronts life throws at us, the mountain that is 'I' remains the same.

Something Lovely.

This weeks offering comes from a delightful young painter called Emily Martin. I am just mad about her work. They are like illustrations to some long forgotten fairy tales I can't quite remember.



There is an air of sweet sadness, yet quiet contemplation.



To see more of her beautiful work, check out her blog here.

The Magic Valley

Spring time in the Garden of Ireland.

I spent the afternoon in Judith's garden. One of my favourite garden's in Wicklow, and I do know a few. It's a garden that is tended with love and dedication, and it shows. Hidden away in the most magical of valley's, amidst rolling verdant hills, a treasure that is just starting to stir, bursting with life.



It's full of beds that are dotted with gently nodding little heads: yes, yes, spring has come, here we are, here we are.



The faintest blossom tentatively peeping out.



And tiny fairy gardens with tiny flowers.



And the sun shone down.






Here, the door is always open. For tea and wisdom.






And you never want to leave, until late.