January is the Monday of months. Get your house in order, it whispers, even as the champagne bubbles settle. It's piles of paperwork and an accountant awaiting numbers. A time for de-decorating, de-cluttering and a diet full of citrus and salmon. If February is a sonnet, then January is three spare lines of haiku with layers of meaning and not a word wasted. In the stillness and cold sunshine, all distraction diminished, wishes bubble quietly up from the soul. Gift of a new year. (image)
When is the last time you found a personal note peeking out of your mailbox? From someone who gathered paper, pen or laptop (and thoughts) and focused solely on dear, wonderful you? Well, there will always be correspondence to open here. Love letters from life, written just for you.