The snow is swirling outside my window but I’m in my head – on a white warm Mexican beach dreaming of possibility and feeling light and free and unencumbered…

I don’t want to go home.

I dream of places I want to call home. Italy? London? Paris? Scotland? Someplace ancient and historical with ghosts and pasts and so many stories.

tales

legends

legacy

history

landmarks

scars

life

A cottage by the sea. Chilly & damp with gnarly trees and neighborhood pubs that only serve a single tap beer but have dozens of bottles of 30 year old scotch.

Bike paths and gravel and dusty bookshops with that tang of old leather that mingles with the scent of tea and vintage carpets.

Silver skies with the slightest hint of blue.

Birds and bats and rustling leaves.

Crackling fires and creaky floors.

Thick blankets, neat whiskey, no TV.

Slow, peaceful, misty.

Curated.