Nest.

{It was worth it if only to see the stars scuttle across the shore.}

{Fearful of losing them, time and time again.}

Looking about my home I realise how very attached I am to it. For all its squeaky floorboards that talk to me from underneath their blanket of carpet and for all the gaps between skirting board and floor that let in the draft, it is home and sometimes this feeling can be beautifully overwhelming.

 

It is filled with things I treasure, things I hoard, things used in collage, things I don’t need. It is filled with clutter, and it is, in many ways, utterly impractical. Having dispensed with dining room table (it holds a computer and his henchmen of electronic), it is, by way of furniture arrangement, not a house for entertaining guests. (Unless, that is, you like to sit on the floor; I’ve no shortage of rugs and cushions for comfort.) But, as I woke this morning and opened the front door to let the smell of wet garden and road from springtime’s night downpour, I would have it no other way. I may have to weave precarious path to kitchen or bathroom lest I topple a tower of clothes, library books, floor cushions or newspapers, but I am well used to this and can do it in the dark. Some mornings you look at things in a different perspective and today I see or feel no flaws.

 

As a friend of mine soon prepares to move into a new home, I think that the excitement of change and newness must be fused in equal part with sadness and nostalgia. One becomes very attached to their wonky window frames and doors that swell with moisture and refuse to sit snug in doorjamb.

{From Frips (who sends and receives great things).}

The timing of good fortune never ceases to astound me, and whenever I think of drawing to a close this blog something appears or happens that makes me realise this is not what I want to do. Not in the least. These passing whims, I have so many, and that is to say little of how much I’d miss this space.  The good fortune I refer to is two pieces of post recently arrived. One from dear Frips, the other from dear Heather. My friends, I thank you for these paper delights and for your friendship.

{From Heather (who makes both beautiful artwork and cards).}