Morning coffee, with cream and sugar and a dust of cinnamon
A chunky candle on a vintage saucer... some rose petals scattered around.
An old basket holding some pretty plates and some freshly cut roses from the garden
I have started packing up things—mostly kitchen utensils; glassware and pitchers, dinnerware and delicates that are not used on a regular basis. While sorting through my beloved stash of junk jewelry I got sentimental. How could I part from it, or give it away? But I had to. And thus, I have gotten rid of a lot of the thing that I adored, but were really not essential.
I'm starting to really enjoying the thought of moving South; the thoughts of a new home, the view of the wide opened country and fields and fields of peaches and lovely country houses adorned with yellow jasmine... of offering a final farewell to Father Winter and not even feeling a bit sorry for this... to fly along fireflies at the kiss of nightfall—like that first time, a few weeks ago when we visited what is to be our new hometown... and how these fascinating creatures came out that evening just to greet me; to welcomed me to their home with twinkling lanterns on wispy wings.
I don't know when it is most beautiful down there,—when it rains and the heat raises up and lies along the fields in delicate mists, or in the morning when you hear the most enchanting song you have ever heard and you look over the tall cypresses and white hickories and see the red cardinal shimmering in the light of the morning as though it were some miraculous flame. And them there are those lovely evenings of the South; soft and warm, growing dimmer and dimmer beyond sight, swooning away through tender gradations of greens and gold. I seem to be seeing it all now for the first time again, with new eyes... what a lovely, lovely place that is. And although my truest heart is still here, and part of it will always be, I am now embracing the expectation of a new beginning. I am ready for it. I am excited.