Not long until the flowers.

Theres a spot in my house I’ve found. A spot in place and time, of peace.

In the early, humid spring evening, it’s not quite warm enough to have the door open. I’m smoking again so I have to open something. I remembered the large kitchen window has a smaller sash at the top. I wind up the blind and open it.

The breeze whips round the back of these houses. It traps both wind and sun perfectly. No wonder my garden’s a forest.

Sitting at my kitchen table, the wind through the sash makes a low howl. It sends shivers up my back. The massage oil from yesterday is still tingling on my skin. More self-care. I am at peace for a moment.

There are pots of plants on the windowsill. A few months ago, after I got home, I planted them from seeds. They received haphazard affection. They are looking good. I think the flowers will flower, soon.

My mind decides to reframe my thoughts on my house. Of course. Why not. I’ll roll with it for a minute, let the mind wander…

I decided not to write down my ramble. Instead I just let the thoughts come out with the wind soothing me.

I’m finding nature very healing.