Spot the dog

Spot the dog or Chez Ceridwen.  

Two 'complete strangers' [if you don't count a few years dipping into each others' worlds/eavesdropping on conversations on here], one invites the other to stay for a couple of days when she's in the area [give or take a few miles].  Yikes, that's brave for two people who live on their own most of the time.

Eleven hours by train landed me at the end of a green-arched lane, met by a welcoming figure in the golden evening light.  Odd objects and corners uncannily familiar, constantly tricking the mind into déja vu.  That kitchen most of all.  All the familiar cats and kittens..  Even the cookbooks on the shelves.  Just as in memory.

C. conjured THE most delicious veggie soup from a tattered copy of Elizabeth David, pure ambrosia at the end of a long day.  The name has flown, hopefully C. will read this and remind us.

The kindness, the dry wit and encyclopaedic knowledge were deeply familiar.  The extra photos are of C's house and the interior of the sweet cottage across the farmyard where C. thoughtfully gave me my own space.  Upstairs had the feeling of the hayloft where Heidi slept in her grandfather's mountain chalet, a low window by her head .  

But peace, perfect peace.  The night so dark [away from light pollution] I could not see my hand in front of my face.  So quiet, the bed so comfortable that I slept like a baby.  Woken by flocks of birds feasting on raspberries and blackberries outside the window.

I was particularly taken by the glimpses out of the deep windows in the changing light, and that this little sanctuary had everything you could possibly want on holiday, on retreat.  Homely, beyond homely, a person could live here simply and for a long time.

More tomorrow ...