It was five thirty when I woke up this dark, quiet, Sunday morning. To my left was the Midge, fast asleep under the down comforter. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his warm little body clutching his Eeyore and breathing softly.
I stole out to the kitchen and warmed up the woodstove as the kettle began to heat up. In my sweats and wool socks and cardigan I am now sitting next to the stove, sipping my tea, listening to music from ages ago, and editing photographs of a very in love couple from a shoot I did yesterday on the coast.
It was snowing, a storm, here yesterday. I solicited a couple whom I have known for many, many years to meet me at the beach so I could photograph them in the swirling snowy madness. The photographs came out beautifully, and so they are a joy to edit.
Sitting here listening to the woodstove burn and my fiddle music makes me incredibly content. It is so quiet here, the only noises being made are from me. These moments are precious and few. I miss them, they happen so rarely these days.