The Art of the Slow Morning: Tea, Toast & Two Terriers
I used to be a woman who leapt out of bed.
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I used to be a woman who leapt out of bed.
It began, as so many of my gardening mistakes do, with a foxglove.
The first winter I spent in this cottage, I thought I might freeze.
I used to think I knew what home meant.
There is a phrase that comes up often when I mention that I live in a