It was a ridiculous amount of money to spend on a magazine, made all the more ridiculous because I have just spent hours culling dozens of books and older magazines I have bought and discarded over the last few years. Yet, here it is, on my doorstop, and I am not sorry for it. Making magazine is quite simply beautiful, and I won't buy another book or magazine for a very long time, because I won't need to. I bought something I deeply loved, something that fills me up rather than nudges me to want more, and I am content.
I cut the lavender off the shrub in the front of my house for drying. I have some precious linen I keep saving for something precious, but you know what's precious? Today. Today is so infinitely precious, but I spend much of my time looking at the possibility of tomorrow instead. Enough of that. Dry the lavender, use the linen, buy the expensive extraordinary magazine you deeply love.
This rose. Isn't she beautiful? I am such a terrible gardener, so slack on pulling weeds and pruning trees and pretty much every garden job imaginable. And yet, there she blooms in amongst the wreckage. I can't tell you why roses, of all things, bring me comfort and the will to hope, but they do. I suppose that a world which contains such wild beauty in it, cannot be wholly despaired of.
And not roses alone, if roses best.