In 2015, we brought far too much rice flour, we finally got rid of that uncomfortable sofa bed from our living room and we welcomed the little baby we had waited so long for. It was the best year.
As summer was on the brink of beginning, we welcomed a whole new little person into the world.
And now. Already, half a year. Life is so different now, I hardly remember how it used to be. What was before now seems to incredibly distant, like some far off land I have a disant memory of inhabiting once a long time ago. It seems strange to think that once upon a time I had two free hands, could linger in the shower, had time or energy to read a book. Could eat a meal in one sitting. Could fall asleep at 9pm and be sure to not wake until the morning. And yet. Oh this love, this little life sleeping soundly on the bed beside me.
It was wild down at the beach today. The high winds whipped the waves of the Channel into a fury, throwing spray from the tops of the breaking waves skyward…
We bundled ourselves up in layers and braced ourselves, heads down, as we walked into the howling wind.Then we went back home and ate homemade fruit cake and drank mugs of steaming tea by the fire.
In a few days time we’ll be taking the ferry across the Channel back to France, to spend Christmas with my in-laws in Brittany. But for now, we are still in England and I am making the most of these final precious days with my family.
Between the high-piled, grey and dark blue clouds, that move like waves across the skies in slow motion, there is a soft beam of light. It is barely visible but bright enough to be seen through the grey. As we walk slowly along the shoreline, we follow the patterns the light paints on the waves.
The light between the clouds seems so dark these past few days, like a blanket of heavy grey wool drawn across the sky. There are moments when you can’t tell dusk from dawn. It’s not so much the place, nor the season, but rather this sadness that hangs over us all, now that her light has been snuffed out.