A pre-Christmas holiday

I went on holiday last week. Work was getting antsy about high leave balances, and I was fed up with work, so it was a mutually agreeable arrangement.

I found a lovely wee cottage to rent about an hour north of home, and I booked it for 4 days. I decided to start my holiday on Sunday afternoon because it was better than rushing out of work on Friday and dealing with traffic, and it was way better than a normal Sunday afternoon spent contemplating the week of work ahead.

The cottage was lovely, well equipped and clean and private. There was a table and two chairs outside under a verandah, with an outlook over a small field of lavender. It was warm and sunny. I sat outside with a cup of tea and a book and felt the tension letting go.

I replaced the tea with a glass of wine. I sat. I listened to the birds and looked at the lavender and sipped the wine. I felt the warmth seeping into my bones.

I went fly fishing one afternoon in the nearby river. I stood in the water casting and watching the strike indicator bob along until it was time to retrieve it and cast again. Rinse and repeat. I went to the beach and sat on the sand and looked at the shells and the small waves and the clouds and the people way down the other end of the beach. I let the sun warm me. I read. I took a nap in the shade of some silver birches. I watched a hedgehog make his way over the gravel driveway to the cool dark shade of my car and onward to the hedge. I made salads for dinner.

On other words, I went away for a week and did nothing and it was wonderful.