our clubhouse was in the hayloft of the old barn hot and stuffy in summer freezing cold in winter we listened to Beatle records over and over again on a dusty turntable
the sweet scent of oranges warm yellow walls her curtains were gingham like the aprons she sewed
0° outside today
“the comfort of reclusion, the poetry of hibernation” ~ Proust looking forward to a little downtime as a stormy weekend approaches
