Dec 15, Poland, under the cherry tree

Poland. Przemysl sits quietly under a fresh blanket of snow and heavy down cover that pins me to bed. Past few days have been a quilt of emotions and tales permeating the house of four clocks that haven't worked since I had braids tied with a bow, maybe longer. My sister and I spent every summer of our childhood here. Filled with fabric scraps that fell from Singer heaven, meticulously draped over dolls, raspberries that soaked our fingertips, lingonberries picked by the bucket, and soup of flowers and mud served in a playhouse under a watchful eye of the Cherry Tree - recently amputated. Paradise lost, our Grandparents' house. Now just for one, it seems to be suspended in time. Grandma's parchment skin, beautiful, as a sole reminder.    


Sebastian is coming with a visit tomorrow. After seeing a dentist without anesthesia and 7h train ride I'm sure he'll be full of colorful stories.