Wrytweard

Monday 6th November

Morning time

Drawing the bedroom curtains onto a low lying mist over the land, as is often the way in these parts in November.  I don’t mind it too much, the clocks changed last weekend, leading us full throttle into the winter months to come.

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It’s chilly in the mornings, if we have the fire on we don’t need central heating, but it makes for a chilli start.

By 8 o’clock the sun is doing its best to break through, Arthur’s curled up fast asleep on the landing windowsill and a new week begins.

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A quick dash home for lunch, back for a bite to eat and a quick hello, always greeted with upmost excitement, unless sleeping!

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Evening

there are some things I love about this time of the year and other things I struggle with.  I think my biggest love is the fire, it’s so cosy.  I miss the garden though and picking posies and sitting out with the bees, many a long chat there has been with the bees this summer.  But all things must sleep, and the seasons remind me that I too must rest my mind at times in the darker days.

I am loving old forgotten words at the moment. Wryteard is Old English for plant guardian. Isn’t that just beautiful? When did we loose our plant guardians or the world? I wonder?  & how sad that we did,  my grandad was a plant gaurdian, I’d like to think I am one too.

Bonfires have died to embers & the night sky tonight will be returned once more to inky black, just the faint twinkle from distant stars with the full Frost moon of November now on the wain.

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