This weekend, with no warning or forethought, we disappeared to the edge of the country. We watched shooting stars till we froze and then nested amongst duvets and sleeping bags. We drank icy dry white wine by the sea in the mist, tucked under towels and blankets as the evening cooled and dreamt together what it might be like to live in the distance, in the isolated house on the edge of the cliff. I painted, he paddled, we played and time went too quickly. It was a perfect, magical adventure.
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