This morning marks a anniversary of sorts. It is the first week of a whole, squeaky clean, shiny new year of staying home, of my canine companion and I shuttering ourselves within the little blue house in the village. We see delivery people at the door from time to time, out in the street or in the park, but masked and always from a distance.
Our dwelling place has become a hermitage, and I suppose that makes Beau and I hermits. We would prefer to think of our selves as being solitaries though, a much more romantic and alluring word. Cue the violins, the harps and the woodwinds.
Our dwelling place has become a hermitage, and I suppose that makes Beau and I hermits. We would prefer to think of our selves as being solitaries though, a much more romantic and alluring word. Cue the violins, the harps and the woodwinds.
All hail our fellow hermits (or solitaries) on this path, whether you reside in a cottage, an abbey, a lamasery, a monastery, a hermitage, a priory, a cloister, a sanctuary, an anchorage, or a dear little boat moored in a quiet harbor somewhere.
We lift our mugs of Darjeeling to you this morning. Be safe. Be well. Be kind.
2 comments:
Be well and be safe. ❤️
I'm glad you're staying safe.
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