Outside, spring sun and spring rain have fallen in turn; inside, notes, sketches, concepts, and ideas have fallen to scratch paper, computer screen, and drafting board.

The shadows of pines notched the edge of the meadow; the expanse of snow, like a bowl in its middle, was creamy-white in the moonlight.

Dreaming and scheming from here, lately (and if I’m being honest, from the bed and the sofa, too, as I’ve work/rested my way through a recent late winter illness). Working one thing out, then another, steadily, and what feels slowly at times, making my way through projects big and small.

When the work, words, home, style, or talents of someone else makes your breath catch, stirs a longing, or causes you to lean in with curiosity, this is simply part of them reflecting part of you.

High moonlight captures winter’s leafless trees as it falls, drawing them in silvery-black ink across the snowy canvas below.

Zipped pouches here, handbags there. Clogs in this one, flats in that one. Leather belts rolled and tucked alongside folded jeans. Scarves hanging from a hoop, hoop hanging from the closet rod.

The hand drawn calendar in my linen clad notebook is telling me January is almost over. One more day, is all.

Remember when we were little and our favorite places were those that were tucked away and right-sized for our size?

End of day. A gradual darkening, a drawing closed. A drowsy surrender to the stillness of night.

It’s true. January might be my favorite month (ah, yes, until October comes…)