A low fog persists in the hills across the river, the hills I see out my studio window thanks to the bare branches of the season. The hills just beyond the river, which is a half-mile from my house, but which I cannot see due to the road, the the empty factory, and the sloping landscape that would hide the river in a fold of overgrown maple and scrub oak and blackberry brambles even if the footprint of modern architecture weren't stamped upon it.
The wood stove is heating up the living room, the hens are chucking and clucking around in a new bale of straw, and the studio cat's old bones are warming on her ottoman. This week has been a tiny, welcome moment of rest after the constant madness of holiday craft fair season and before the new year's upon us and we're rushing forward again.
In a few days, we'll be tearing our only bathroom down to studs. We're both a little frightened by this inevitability. I have photos of our vintage pink bathroom that I may or may not show you. The world feels upended currently, but there doesn't seem to be much sense in just staying safe and content and static in our places, so we may as well upend our own personal spaces as well.
Happy 2017 to you all!