I was reminded of other mornings in other houses, where dawn appeared to be breaking somewhere else. My connection to the sky required a trip into the garden to look up. Here we sit on the boundary of the town with nothing behind us but fields, raised up enough that we look down over the roofs and either side to woods and hills. In this house we can watch day arrive and leave again, see flocks swooping for miles above, birds of prey hovering almost at eye level as they scan the ground below.
When the sun shines on one of these cold November days, I find it hard to resist curling up with a little research material in the bright pools that fall in and warm the floor. Passers by must see me lying on a sheepskin reading drowsily and wonder whether I do any work at all?
After the long stressful years of planning and building it feels that the house has welcomed us into a light-filled, warm embrace. Like a cosy lap to rest in and a soothing hand to stroke our heads, it begs us to let go of the birthing pains and enjoy the baby.
Of course, our baby may still need shelves and cupboard doors, she may need a little filler and paint where the timber frame has settled, but she is warm, light and easy to live in. We're home.
I promise that I will organise this year's Go Ahead Honey in the next couple of weeks. If you expressed an interest, please remind me here in the comments in case I miss you off the calendar. If you would like to be involved, suggest a primal theme and I'll see if I can fit you in.