रिमझिम

This place is a dream. Surely it’s only in fiction that people wake each morning to dew-soaked rolling hillsides covered in vineyards and pastures of sheep. I woke this morning to the sound of the sheep on the hillside below being turned out to graze, their celebratory bleats ringing out across the valley. The hills are every shade of green imaginable, lit by the golden sun risen over the grey-blue mountains.  The hours in each day here feel long and languorous. Left to my own devices and without obligation (aside from the small, pleasant chores of looking after one sweet old dog, one charmingly round cat, and a small greenhouse of plants) I am a naturally early-riser, and more than content to spend the majority of my day reading and drawing by the window, writing, or going on long walks through the hills with the primary objective of befriending every farm animal and idle bird that will accept my acquaintance, and the secondary objective of living out my long-time fantasy of being Elizabeth Bennet. 

Prints//Instagram

Solgårdsparken 2015

Claude Monet