We got ourselves a piece of land.
The soil is clay. Very hard. Not easy to work with.
But that’s how it rolls with us. Usually a bit of effort and a little googling pulls us through.
And God knows; we are willing. Willing to put in what it takes to make it work. To bring out the magic.
Cause the magic is there… Underneath the clay. Inbetween the falling walls of the barn and the broken glass windows.
The magic is very much there.
Visuals of huge glass bell jars, covering rows of crisp lettuce to protect it from insects enters my mind’s eye when I go to bed.
Shelves bending under stacks of white porcelain vases and bowls, goblets and plates, from floor to ceiling.
The contrast of shine and glitz against earth, trees and water. The sweet balance. Our land of peace.
