barefoot earlier

We were supposed to be in Edinburgh this weekend, staying with friends of Andy's, exploring, and seeing some festival shows. I had it carefully planned: a work trip last week for author meetings and school visits, then Andy arriving on Friday.

The snag came last Monday when it became clear that Andy's preparation for his next training courses would take all weekend. Now that the weekend has come, I find I'm very happy to be at home: playing board games; pottering around the garden tying up tomatoes and sorting out the worms; hanging washing and sorting post. All so humdrum but satisfying in a way that gallivanting rarely is. I spend my life trying to pack as much into each minute as possible which makes these slower times delightful.

Feeling a freshly mowed lawn under bare feet
Warm, soapy water running up my arms as I wash windows
Reading on the bench in the garden with the cat curled by my feet (waiting for his tea)
Painting my toenails in bed and half listening to The Archers
Hanging the washing under a clear, starry sky (so they get several hours drying time while I'm still in bed)
Taking it down on a hot afternoon with a tiny breeze lazily tugging the clothes and making the windchimes sound ever so quietly

There is much contentment in the small things.