A Cosy Sunday

After a very busy week of being on the West coast, then travelling across the country, getting back, and going back into work, all I wanted this weekend was to be at home enjoying the comforts of being in my cosy place. So on Sunday, that is precisely what I did.

Last night the air was growing chilled as some light rain started before I went to bed. It was set to rain a steady, light drizzle all night. With my a/c off I went to bed and could hear the soft drips of the Autumn rain. I smiled to myself because it made me think of my first visit to England when I stayed on the farm and slept in the second floor craft room. The window was always open and the desk sat underneath the window, cluttered with sewing machine, buttons, threads, and pins. On one of the first nights it rained, the same gentle Autumn rain, and with the window open I could hear it and smell the freshness of the rain out to the little garden below. It was quintessential England.

It was comforting, for some reason. Something about being cosy and warm under a blanket in a cluttered craft room in a farm house in a tiny town south of London gave me the strangest sense of being home, while I was actually very far from home and still unfamiliar with the country. And yet...

I knew then, on that rainy night in Tonbridge, that England and I had a deep bond. I had this feeling that I would not be able to shake the charm it had on me. And I have not been able to since then (more than five years ago), nor would I try. I won't prate on and on about my love for England, but I could.

So, this morning when I woke up and the final drizzles were dripping off the roof, I delighted that the sky was a bright grey that enveloped the entire horizon. I loved that the air was chilly and I needed a sweater. I brewed delicious coffee I bought in Santa Monica, donned a cosy grey sweater with patches on the elbows, ate a sweet Macintosh apple, and proceeded to read all morning.