It’s a cold, windy evening outside. How nice it is to have a duvet full of fluffy feathers to wrap myself up in. I’m about to close my eyes and listen as the whole village settles down to sleep. The rustic fireplace in the corner will keep me company. I like listening to the lovely flickering of the fire. The flames are bouncing about merrily, and occasionally one of the logs crackles, like a mini explosion.
Our timber cottage sighs softly every night — after all, it’s very old. The woodworms munch on the beams above us, here and there. It awakens the cat from his slumber. He stretches his back and jumps down from the windowsill. When he lands on the wooden floor, it squeaks, and then off he scampers to the fireside to warm himself. He curls-up on the rug, closes his eyes, and purrs contentedly.
Hanging above the fireplace are bundles of herbs, gently rustling in the heated air. There’s lemon balm, sage and mint — our family picked them a few days ago. They’re well dried now. Tomorrow we’ll pick some more, and then come back and make some hot, fragrant tea. We can put fresh honey in it — a gift from our dear grandmother who lives next door. That will be a treat!
Coming from her outdoor shed, which is right next to our cottage, are knocking sounds. Grandma weaves carpets in the evenings. You should see her loom! It’s a large wooden apparatus that takes up almost half the space. The threads that are strung on it remind me of spider webs. Grandma rhythmically moves the horizontal beam back and forth (each time, it knocks against the vertical frame of the loom) and…
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