All in all, home is a sacred space.
Like many Canadians who escape the cold months (fondly known as Snowbirds), I longed to be travelling south to a warmer climate for 6 months or the arrival of spring on the Avalon Peninsula - whichever came first.
Early this morning, I made my way down the stairs and looked out the back windows. I could see nothing beyond the terrace railings. Heavy fog blanketed the whole valley, reaching its fingers over the roof and around the stone walls of the cottage. The whiteness rested quietly and completely. I opened up the doors and stepped out. No … Continue reading Saturday Mourning in Paris
I must be missing food from home - I figure if I'm dreaming about it, I should write about it.