Some days I am just so very grateful for the roots of my life.
Those incredibly small things which anchor me to it all, which give me enough purpose to keep moving. Laundry, my walks, floors to sweep, soup and bread to make, the chickens scratching in the fern and camellia bed.
Their eggs to gather.
Wonderful escapist novels to listen to, read by fabulous narrators.
I think I am going to ask my children to start addressing me as "Lady Mother."