Dear Diary,
We eat a bird today. To put the perspective bluntly.
Flightless, I think not.
There was an entire flock grazing in the East Yard this morning.
Hovering around the old splintered table at the edge of the clearing. The place where we leave offerings to the Woodland Fae.
They scoured the ground, in search of their exoskeletal prizes, who lay unsuspecting in their hibernation under the leafy understory.
This morning lingers to all the inhabitants of Poets House by The Brooke, like a layer of soft linen, beckoning our weary spirits into comfort.
With a fire in the stove, and soon the Fraser fur candle too…
Contented with the knowledge of our pause in time. Long weekend, long awaited. Even with the issues at hand…
We crave calm and bright. We shall make it so! Our visual accompaniment is Little Women, helping us keep a nineteenth century side glancing eye on holiday pursuits.
Well met,
x~ J
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