It's different here. I feel like I've just stepped out the insanity that is London and have rediscovered how to breathe. I love coming down to Somerset. I picked the strawberries that I planted three years ago. Collected eggs from the chickens, and chased Duffy around the yard. Henry passed away a few weeks ago, and there's a gap where he used to be. A space. He's missed, it's not the same without his presence.
Still, to be able to breathe the air and sit outside in the sun on the grass with a cup of milo… heaven. We had dinner in the field beneath the garden, with a sneaky bottle of Verve. After dinner, just after dusk, I sat barefoot at the edge of the field, watching baby fox cubs play in the hedge, chasing all the rabbits.
You don't get that in London. It's a different lifestyle here, it's slower and things are more intentional. Appreciated. It's so comforting. I'm going to stay a few days. I don't want to think about going back just yet.