from the window

poor old house next door to Mum's home. Empty now for a year or so, unloved and quiet. The garden is left to it's own devices, grasses and brambles in a tangled thicket. This potting shed dates from a happier, productive era in the houses life. Garden full of quietly growing vegetables, tended lawn, swing in the old apple tree. I'd love a little space like it, surrounded by the green of the yard, fire in the hearth, a place to warm hands and toes on cold frosty days.