SMALL WONDERS TO BE FOUND IN THE COUNTRYSIDE
. . .

Rows of cut wheat - their lines taking on the shape of the hills.

Little red and white cabins.

Watching the lake freeze day by day.

Mountains. Their steep sides dropping straight down into fjords, the depths of which are only to be guessed at.

Walking Bobby in the early morn... Snowy walks through silent, blanketed forests.

Turf roofed cottages with red doors.

The ritual of fire making.

Stopping work for a long lunch.

Veggies dug from a layer of snow - leeks and potatoes and kale… Wintery soups.

Hot cups of tea.

Signs of a passing deer, spelled out in peeling bark.

When the sun looks like a disc behind a wall of winter fog.

Garlands of apples strung on the ceiling.

The twang and pause of somebody learning to play the guitar.

SMALL WONDERS TO BE FOUND IN THE CITY
. . .

Old ladies with tiny dogs.

Art in the park.

Roses in November.

Art Nouveau façades. 

Bikes everywhere.

Beautiful old buildings - minarets and twisted iron balconies.

The swoosh of train doors, and the way they close perfectly, their design so precise.

Frozen fall leaves.

Breath clouds - hanging around you in the air.

A gratitude for my shoes, for keeping my toes warm.

Boxy steeples.

Cats with thick fur.

Christmas cookies at every supermarket.

The painted roof of an old wooden church - all roses and curlicues and fat singing cherubs.