on the way, ross-on-wye

So we've gone on a drive this week, 'round the bends and through the valleys.
On the way, we found Baileys, thanks to our lovely friend Emily and her recomendation. Photos not usually allowed here, but I managed to get a smile, and I'm in.
Vintage meets re-made, meets France meets countryside, and the swirliest writing on tiny brown labels. Shelves of reclaimed glass, bins of pegs and brushes, enamel cookware, and classic linen towels in crisp red and white, and soft blue and grey.
But most importantly I want the industrial wire pigeonholes. And those bare filament bulbs, to fill a barn with my treasures, ladders all the way to the rafters, softened floorboards under foot.

wire and wood and rough wool, grey light no sun in sight

January days and the sun is so low, barely there. The building large, but inside, each corner and room give light to every object, collected and categorized.
It's the small things I save in jars, bits of string and a stone from that one day, holding onto our days however we can.

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