Early this afternoon, when the rain finally let up, the soft grey light was perfect. I picked up my camera and surveyed the kitchen table.
Coconut chai – so sweet and flavourful it needs neither milk nor sugar – in my new teacup, a birthday present to myself.
A bunch of pink tulips for fighting the blues. The petals are tipped with the tiniest bit of green. They've gone from tight buds to full flowers in just a day. An extravagance.
A bowl of soup: sausage, lentil, kale, with ditalini pasta cooked later and added at the last minute, topped with shards of Parmesan cheese. I made a big batch on Monday night; it will sustain me all week.
Odds and ends of yarn, mostly Koigu KPPPM. Little souvenirs. I could tell you what I made from each colourway; who it was for; where it is now. Each ball contains a story; each story a collection of days.
I didn't think to photograph the books. I'm reading The Kitchen Diaries, Vol. II, Wolf Hall and a poetry collection by Mary Oliver. I dip in and out, between stints of knitting; I'm making progress, but slowly, on everything. The push to finish my mittens has lost some urgency with today's warm weather, an unseasonable 14ºC. I'm longing for another deep freeze, and the high blue skies and sunshine that extreme cold will bring.