Three beautiful things most days.
1. Tea from a large blue willow pattern pot.
2. We stop to look at a dead moth, luminous grey on the dark shaded leaf litter, weightless as a shadow on my hand.
3. The smell of campfire smoke in Bettany's hair.
1. I promised myself I wouldn't moan and grumble about it -- but I do. And as if by magic, a very kind friend produces the required blaz...
