[open post -- offérte vobis pacem]
Nov. 23rd, 2023 08:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
onthewillowsthereThe last few days have been good.
His morning heaviness is a little shorter than usual: it's a little easier to get out of bed. He makes sketches of herbs, reads, bakes, helps Claudius in the greenhouse or the garden -- he's busy enough for the days to have purpose, but not so busy he feels overwhelmed. Sometimes the Sword with the Red Hilt is gone from their rooms for a day or more at a time, off with Jack, a phenomenon he still finds fascinating, but it feels right that his sword, too, should have other things to do besides wait to come to his hand. He practices signs with Magnus. Shen Qingqiu brings him an armful of books and says they can talk about them when Galahad has read them. Tress shows him how to make the little sweet balls with coconut.
He keeps his calendar. Advent is coming soon, and he thinks about what he'll do this year, the first year when God hasn't been at his ear for the season. He wants to keep a wreath for advent candles, even if it doesn't matter. He wants the familiarity of it, the smell of melting beeswax and balsam fir.
That's what he's doing now, in the kitchen -- standing with his eyes closed, picturing thick cylinders of purple wax, before he opens the drawer.
His morning heaviness is a little shorter than usual: it's a little easier to get out of bed. He makes sketches of herbs, reads, bakes, helps Claudius in the greenhouse or the garden -- he's busy enough for the days to have purpose, but not so busy he feels overwhelmed. Sometimes the Sword with the Red Hilt is gone from their rooms for a day or more at a time, off with Jack, a phenomenon he still finds fascinating, but it feels right that his sword, too, should have other things to do besides wait to come to his hand. He practices signs with Magnus. Shen Qingqiu brings him an armful of books and says they can talk about them when Galahad has read them. Tress shows him how to make the little sweet balls with coconut.
He keeps his calendar. Advent is coming soon, and he thinks about what he'll do this year, the first year when God hasn't been at his ear for the season. He wants to keep a wreath for advent candles, even if it doesn't matter. He wants the familiarity of it, the smell of melting beeswax and balsam fir.
That's what he's doing now, in the kitchen -- standing with his eyes closed, picturing thick cylinders of purple wax, before he opens the drawer.
