Stone lace and a beach picture from Gotland.
Woke up this morning as dawn cracked with the chorus.
Thrush, with his double toot, sounds a little less melancholy in the morning, perkier.
Ravens calling.
The house smells of mothballs from a million opened plastic boxes of wool and ancient projects. These boxes have been open now for two days and still the smell is abominable. I've put the lid back on some, but the condensation must out of the rest first.
Yesterdays terrible battle lies heavy over the house - needs also to be aired out from old damp and then lids put on. I carry on as normal in the emotional rubble. Is anything irreparable or reparable?
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Afternoon. All is calm though the stench is still difficult. We have bought a loft ladder so I can get up there and store all of these boxes. That'll be a load off.
On the way up the hill I picked some wood anemones.
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