At the End of a Windswept Day

I’m actually writing this Thursday evening, not Friday morning, although that’s when you’ll be reading it, probably. This has been a windswept day, pretty chilly, but what made it really nippy was an enthusiastic wind that enjoyed chilling the bones of anyone who got out in it.

The sky looks so pretty this evening. It’s just about sunset and there are ribbons of mauve with golden sunlight peeking under them and below that, still some blue left over from the day.

The wind is busily turning the largest wheel in my little garden owl. I enjoy watching him, winter and summer, he lets me know when the wind becomes exuberant.

This is the time of day when, if I let it, a sad case of lonelies creeps in. Why is that, I wonder. Maybe because the day is ending instead of beginning? Maybe it’s because of the memories of family gathering in for supper at the end of the day? Or, maybe when the day’s work is done, all those negative thoughts and worries I’ve kept at bay during the day see their chance to sneak in.

Writing is a good antidote for loneliness. When I write, I become absorbed in Ned or Flora or Darcy. I see what they see, hear what they hear, and, if they get into a scrape, I write them out. Painting is another good way to forget about self and become absorbed in creating something new and pretty. Or, playing the piano. I’m forever grateful to my mom and an older brother for those piano lessons as a child. Then, of course, there’s reading. At the moment, I’m reading a Mrs. Jeffries cozy by Emily Brightwell. I’ve read this book before, but I enjoy it all over again. I like the companionship the characters have with each other. I’m eagerly waiting for the newest book to launch in May.

Tonight I’m thinking I’ll bake an egg custard for supper. It’s pretty good, easy to fix, and, I suppose, is a comfort food. As the mauve clouds turn to purple and the blue sky disappears, it’s time to pull the shade, get comfy and warm, and count my many blessings of the day.