I captured this little scene of a tomato seedling and a baby snail about a year ago, while it was happening on our London windowsill.
Where I am now, I took to trying to re-grow shop-bought living salads once they are eaten. They look like they will happen.
Spring is happening. With winter behind us, we are marveling at how fast the days are lengthening, and how much our brain and its chemistry can't keep up with it. We are disoriented in these rapidly lengthening daylight conditions, ending up sleeping in the mornings, and eating dinner at midnight. A new country with a different climate takes some getting used to.
After a year of living here, I have been looking through photos of our London life that span a whole decade for me and seventeen years for my boyfriend.
Here, we are starting out from scratch, back to the drawing board, to square one. Our professions and activities we used to build our days around are not relevant here. Our circle of friends have been left behind, a new one yet to be found. For me the new language is a slow, frustrating process where I need to be very patient. I'd rather be fluent right now, you see.
Me and boyfriend have been talking about ways of making the best of it, of the here and now. Setting up on our own, creating the circumstance of work that is not here for us, establishing ourselves in our new environment, not by finding jobs that need to be filled, but by filling the gaps that are between us and the new place.
A
post on Rosie's blog made a deep impression on me a while back. I share her viewpoint when I think about how I'm feeling and would like to feel in this little nordic town with our seedling life in it, after living in and leaving a big old metropolis.
Ideas are shaping up and with my springtime instincts I wish us to nurture them into life.
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