The 5 minutes miniature

Here, in Normandy, life has a slow pace, a deliciousness delivered between the raindrops. In the winter, we long for the sun, but other senses come in play. The smell of leaves after the rain, the fire burning in the fireplace. Familiar noises give us the time of the day, the ducks quarreling on the pond, the rooster making it clear that by golly we should be out of bed by now! The goose visiting, gently tapping on the door so we don’t forget to give her a present, a little bit of soft bread. The horses running in the pasture and the cows mooing, dogs barking to quote “The sounds of music”: these are the few of my favorite things.

Rarely at times, the noises of a car passing remind our modern life is out there somewhere.

When we think about miniature, we picture in our head a pretty little painting, what I have in mind is more a five-minute blackout,

Twice a day, to enter my very own space, my moment. The moment when I go around the house to open or close the shutters.

In any case, no matter what the weather is, I get a breath of fresh air. I fill my lungs with it and open my being to just be in that miniature timepiece. The wind in the trees, the rain on the cobblestone by the house. Either welcoming the day or having closure.

The goal isn’t to make a to-do list or anything really. I just look around and let the beauty in. 5 minutes, to ground me in the present, no matter what. A cleansing moment when there no judgments, where everything becomes relative and just is, a joyful moment like the anticipation of opening a present.

A time vacuum where everything is fluid and flows, empty of worries.

Every day comes and goes with that childish feeling of discovery.

Sophie x

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