My Featured Blogger this week is Rosie Books of La Tour Abolie. Rosie lives (by her own description) “in a windswept corner of the South of England with an awful lot of cats.” She writes intriguing human interest pieces on a wide range of topics, including (again by her own description) “stuff about writing, stuff about books and far out philosophy from an old baggage in a book-tower.”
Anyone who writes about “stuff” scores points with me, not to mention “old baggage in a book-tower.” So I’m along for the ride, cats and all…
And recommend you do the same!
Soon after she left us, it began to snow. From now on my life would be all snow,and all falling. My husband cleared our driveway then dug a diagonal path across the lawn, starting at the back door and ending at his shed. The snow didn’t ease or stop as it normally would have; it crept up the glass in our patio doors; it piled up on our windowsills; icicles oozed down from the guttering.
It had been so very dark inside our house, and for so long. Twelfth night: the sixth of January, the day people in other houses would be taking down their decorations.
I had not crossed the threshold since it happened. I was frozen already: why would I want to be colder? But Twelfth Night made me realise I must. I couldn’t spend the rest of my days indoors. My maiden voyage would be this: I…
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