comfort [Theme]
In March, the frosty chilliness of the morning and the not-at-all-winter chirping of birds outside the window, slight melancholy and hope for a quick thaw, the first tulips on the bed and woolen socks on the feet are so harmoniously combined. At the border of contrasts, real comfort is born.
At the end of January there comes a moment when I just catastrophically dislike winter. Perhaps this is because the shortest-longest-feelings-prickly-cold month is ahead. Passers-by, ruffled like sparrows, hide in their warm coats, wrapped in scarves to the tip of their noses, and everyone is in a hurry, running home from the cold, into warmth, into comfort. This is probably why I’m already dreaming of spring, I’ve been cultivating it within myself since January, buying flowers and wearing thin powdery sweaters. And I also know that a woman should always have spring in her soul.
At that moment, when you are completely exhausted, and the heaviness falls into every cell of your mind and body, like sticky cotton candy, at that moment you can try to retire, just close your eyes and imagine your home. Your inner home. At first you will see a lot of people and a lot of fuss around, leave only the most dear ones, look each of them in the eyes and go beyond the space. And now you can safely imagine what you see around you: meadows or fields, or maybe it will be a damp dark forest. Choose yours, what is close and responds, feel the mood of the weather, feel the wind, aromas, sounds and continue walking, acutely absorbing everything. You will see a house ahead. Imagine what it will be like, what the doors and windows will be like. And what color are they? Touch and feel the structure with your hand, open the doors and go inside. Now slowly begin to explore everything that you see there, what is truly yours, and what is it like, how many rooms are there, is there furniture there, and what objects are in it, how the rays of light fall, are there aromas, are there sounds heard, what is the house filled with , what is in plain sight and what is hidden from view. Walk slowly, slowly, through the entire space, merge with it, remember yourself as a little person, remember what you dreamed about, what stories you were replaying in your head, whether there is anything left from your wonderful childhood. Fill your home with what you need, remove everything unnecessary. Stay in this state, feel the sun breaking through the windows, the warmth of the walls, that coziness, peace and quiet that you need, remember this, breathe in, fill up and you can slowly return to reality. And this will be a completely different reality...
Wow, do you have a curtain?! It's almost like having your own room.
Certificate of publication No. 121020907845
We preserve family, love and loyalty.
The main reason for happiness is you.
And when we "search for ourselves" - we are actually looking for happiness.
I love it when it's cozy at home: no women, no children, in general, like in the barracks.
The sweet smell of evening tea, mixed with light samovar steam, some always special jam, now from Chinese apples, now from blackberries - all this and hundreds of other little things create comfort, without which it is bad for a person to live.
November is knocking at the very heart, as if reminiscent of this almost black gold beauty. And anyway, if it's raining outside, you put on your boots and go for a walk. You breathe in almost frosty air. You embrace everything around with a close look. Dreaming of a cup of spiced cocoa. About fragrant apple tart. With a layer of airy meringue inside. And suddenly you want so much to go home, to comfort, to warmth, to a cloud of cinnamon. November. He makes us listen to our smallest desires. Don't miss a detail. Hug yourself and loved ones with tenderness and care. And love.
Autumn. The house is quiet. I knit cosiness with the aroma of velvet coffee, with the smell of apple pie and cinnamon, with a monochrome palette of transparent autumn watercolors. Comfort from a favorite sweater the color of silver rains, gently caressing the body, and knitted vanilla-colored socks, comfort from combed thoughts, laid out in the head like books on a shelf, from branches with leaves, drenched in crimson gold and placed in a vase. There is a terry silence around, in which the soul is felt even more strongly, because you are listening to something very important, to yourself. Wise autumn time. He walks on tiptoe so as not to frighten away our timid desires and dreams with his steps. Listen and lightly touch the very, very bottom of her pond-heart, covered with old leaves. Smile quietly at this silence and just dream. Warm up, holding a mug with your forgotten dreams in your cold hands.
I love autumn for its comfort. By themselves, there are huge, almost masculine, sweaters in the closet, long scarves to accompany and warm us on walks. Chestnuts, fallen leaves for the new herbarium and other autumn joys scatter in the pockets. October quietly follows us with felt steps, knocking drops of silver rain on the windows, pulling the wind out of her hat hair. And the house is warm and somehow very calm in the soul ...
Yes, simply because there is such a time - autumn.
Because it's October again and perfume apples, cookies, a blanket and comfort, and so, day after day, our year is beautifully spun by someone there, from above.
