This is one of my current favorite corners of the world to spend my mornings in.
However, as I have not yet found the perfect big vintage velvet armchair, today, I'm so perfectly happy to sit here, cross-legged on the floor with a big creaky French window breezing open at my back.
The sunshine is silhouetting the mountains and spilling gold slivers across these hardwood floors that have seen a hundred years of footsteps, tip-toes, slow dances, and paw pads.
My quiet cup of coffee is lazily steaming on the sill while an old folk album lights up the room, and of course, my favorite wobbly old chair has been doing a most noble job serving as a makeshift writing surface, leaving my scrawling cursive lacking in legibility but overflowing with fresh character.
I love when joy finds you unannounced - on the sleepy Sunday mornings and laced throughout the in-betweens - making you slow and still enough to touch toes with the simple truths that make us whole.
