Ten days.

It’s not a great deal of time. Less than two weeks, one third of a month. Yet it has made all the difference.

My neighbourhood has bloomed since I’ve been away. Hedges that were black and bare, leafless trees only misted with green or pale hints of blossom are now verdant with foliage, sylvan glades beckoning. My garden has come to life, tulips and bluebells and violets everywhere, clematis buds and peonies waiting to pop, blossom on the fruit trees a pink and white promise of fruit to come.

And I also feel changed. Things were busy and not a little stressful in the lead up to this time away, so it was a relief to get there, to look up at blue sky above snow bound slopes and just… breathe.

Patchy internet connection in the mountains meant that, even if I did decide to click on a link, more often than not it wouldn’t load. So I stayed offline for the most part, just spending time being. Enjoying walking and exploring and spending family time, stretching our horizons. Discovering new places, revisiting places I’d been before.

There was some writing, of course. I don’t know that I can go a day without it at the moment. Thinking about plot lines and structure. Writing notes for a new book, yet to be started.

Now I am home again. I know I’m lucky, to have been able to step away from my life for a few days. The house feels strange/familiar, as though I’ve been away long enough and far enough for a shift in my perspective. I will be back to work this week. There are books to be edited, clients to follow up. But for now, I shall ease my way back into things, holding this change close to me, wanting to feel its effect for as long as possible.

Ten days. It’s not a huge amount of time, but it was enough.