cold-afternoon

January is about to come again, and I wish I could skip that month. I wish I could go from December 31 to February 1. Because no matter how hard I try, I won’t be able to go through January 10 without remembering my friend introducing you to me on that cold afternoon, on that crowded street of London. I won’t be able to forget how you shook my hand and looked at me with that smile which soon became the one thing I longed to see every single day. I won’t be able to forget how the color of your eyes matched the winter sky and how you called me sweetie when you texted me 3 days after.
I won’t be able to forget that January 2016, the month that we met, was and remains the most beautiful month of my life.
I won’t be able to avoid thinking to myself “one year ago, we…”.
I won’t be able to forget that “we” is no longer a thing, and never will be again.
—  I dread January
3

Painting a picture at Smithills

The Smithills Estate sees a great variety of weather conditions throughout the year. From hot, sunny afternoons to cold, snowy mornings. This means that many activities on site tend to be seasonal. However, there is one hobby you can take up in the moors that is good in any weather and at all times of the year – painting.

Each season offers a new view of this dramatic landscape that offers great inspiration to everyone from the novice dabbler to the expert painter.

One such enthusiast is local artist Pete Marsh, who has illustrated the estate many different times. He can often be found up amongst the heather or strolling under the trees of Barrow Bridge.

“I’ve been interested in drawing as long as I can remember. Right from being a small boy I loved drawing. My father won a scholarship to an art college but they were too poor for him to attend. His father before him was a butcher, but he was also into drawing and painting. I’ve lived in Bolton for about 23 years. Bolton is great for all sorts of reasons, especially the landscape.”

Find out more about Pete’s artwork

I think about you more than I should. You cross my mind when I listen to a song I know you like. You lace my thoughts on cold nights and lazy afternoons and busy weekends. You play a starring role in every fantasy about my future. Is this my fate? To be haunted by an idea of you?
—  I desperately want to believe in destiny if only because of you
I felt like I was sort of disappearing. It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you felt like you were disappearing everytime you crossed a road.
—  J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Baked veggies, salad and wraps🍴🌿👅👅 Easy peasy warm #vegan meal on this freezing cold afternoon ⁓ Filmed it all and will be posting the recipe video on YouTube tomorrow morning!

Made with Instagram
Fox!Sanji AU Starter (Saved for santoryu-blog)

The afternoon was cold, and the city quiet, letting hear the raindrops fall over the empty streets like music notes in a piano. The lights of the houses dazzled in the darkness made by the heavy grey clouds in the sky, which apparently were going to stay there for a while, not letting the sunrays pass. All looked armonious that afternoon, but someone seemed to don’t like though. Under a canvas roof of a shop, inside a big box which had written ‘pick one’ in the front with marker, there was a little fox cub, not so little, with particular blonde hair that hid part of his face, a curious blue eye showed under a particular curl brow. This cub was alone in the big box, hugging his legs and at the same time wrapping them with his fluffy red tail. His pair of ears were down, one of them twitched every time that, through a little hole in the roof, a rain drop fall over the point of it.

He was waiting, like every day since it had been left in that box with his brothers and sisters, for someone to pick him, and take him away of that box. He had been bored since one human picked the last of his brothers and left him alone with a big box, a blanket and a squeaky toy. When would someone appear and pick him already? He wondered, hugging more his legs.