You can learn a lot by looking back. Two years ago, I wrote about my morning and evening routines

I’ve found I do better with a clean slate. With blank pages. With a planner unhemmed by pre-printed calendars, lists, guides, and forms

It’s early morning. I slide my feet into fleecy slippers, lift my softest cardigan from where it hangs on the hook inside the closet door, thread my arms through the sleeves

Daylight came slowly. Beyond the glass, a rare fog hung thick and milky and pregnant

They were snuggled against the pillows on the daybed in the boy room, a four year old, a two year old, and a newborn

I unwind a length of chunky wool yarn, tie a loop and slip it over a knitting needle, thread the working yarn around my fingers, and begin casting on

It was a quiet Thanksgiving, two week early

The river was gentle now, and calm, skimming over rocks, burbling between boulders, taking its wandering time

I have a steadfast belief that a small kitchen can be as enduring and beautiful as a large one.

A rinse-off under hot running water, a squirt of dish soap on the sponge, a rub-down of the dinner plate front and back, another hot rinse, and into the clean sink to drain and dry.

In the still-dark hours of early morning, I settle in at the end of the sofa with my laptop, a knitted throw blanket, and a cup of hot tea

Go ahead and begin with the rug.