Hidden away in an idyllic and blustery little cove, we spent the week in a small caravan in Donegal, Ireland, complete with our own private beach. Some people crave fancy foreign resorts, sunshine and all you can eat buffets, but to us, this was a little slice of heaven. We hunkered down for a whole week of just 'being' and did little more than sleep, swim, walk the dogs, read and really talk to each other about the road ahead and what we wanted for our future.
All the talking felt a bit like tugging on the end of a bit of wool, which has unravelled on the edge of a tightly knitted jumper. Oh-so tempting to just pull, and revel in the wiggly, tangled, unravellingness of it all, but equally bound to the worry of undoing what you have made and no going back. Fear, really. The fog of uncertainty didn't fully lift during that week, but seeds of ideas were planted and took hold.
Although it was late October, the beautiful, large, papery poppies and trailing nasturtium were in full bloom and montbretia was flowering with abandon in the hedgerow amongst the last of the brambles... I couldn't help but pick a few stems and arrange them in a little glass to my liking - a little thank you to be left for our hosts. An ode to Autumn, and to orange.
There was something intoxicatingly magical about the peppery crushed green scent that rose to meet me as I cut the stems with a knife on the driftwood table, which then married with the salt and seaweed on the breeze.
And as looked out into the wild atlantic sea, I thought - yes, this is life. This is what I want.