The day was long. Deliciously, luxuriously long.
It started bright and sweet, with sunlight pouring in. By 2 pm, a gray sky dampened and tinged all with blue. I read, mostly — 300 pages of Little Women in my corner armchair by the window; later, aided by long tapered candles and short tea lights. A friend came over for dinner, and we talked in the dim glow of a barely lit kitchen. I was in bed by 11, marveling at the warmth of my little cave before I blew all the light out of the room, and fell asleep with no fan or white noise to guide me.
No music. No screens. Just listening, reading, dozing, walking, cooking, and thinking. Reflecting on how different being alone and present feels now than it did a year ago when I started on this Year’s journey. How good it feels.
Oh. And writing, by hand: