Days of tea and white paper

Last night, to end a week that seemed to move slightly more slowly than other weeks of my experience, I indulged myself and watched not only the film adaptation of Jane Austen's Persuasion (which novel resides on the top -rather small- tier of my hierarchy of favorite books) but also another of Mrs. Gaskell's novels brought to the screen called North and South. Charmed as I was and always am by these period romances, I find myself today in a corresponding mood where it is my occupation and leisure to sit at my desk with a deliciously hot cup of black tea to fortify myself against the chill which quietly enters through my open window, and write those things with pen and ink which are the creation of my combined imagination, reflections and romantic fancies, and which, I am quite confident, will not be admitted to the censure of any but myself in this lifetime. Still, I am quite contented to sit and write my ramblings to my imagined audience, as I find it a most soothing exercise for my soul and mind. These are the moments and hours so quickly forgotten, but which adds that richness and joy to the rest of our lives, and for them I am profoundly grateful.