Where the Light Lands
This morning, just after the last guest left the breakfast room and the coffee machine gave its final sigh, I sat at the window where the softest patch of light gathers each day.
It’s a quiet spot. Nothing fancy, just a wooden ledge and a small cushion that’s faded in a lovely way. But today, I noticed something new: how the light filtered through the frost and made a patchwork on the wall. Like a quilt sewn from hope, stillness, and something unnamed.
And it struck me — maybe we don't need to start the year with a resolution, a reinvention, or a race.
Maybe it’s enough to notice where the light lands and choose to step into it.
So today, I invite you not to plan everything, but to sit in silence for a little while and welcome any thoughts that speak to you, and to wonder what beauty will quietly unfold if we just stay still long enough to see it.
Let this be the year we leave the door open for small magic.
With warmth,
Mika
P.S.
A cinnamon stick appeared in my coffee again this morning — still warm, as if just stirred by unseen hands. Lady Staywell must have stopped by; I heard her say, “When you feel uncertain, look toward where the light lands. It will never mislead you.” The scent of her words lingered long after the cup was empty.
➤ Guests who check in usually find that she checks in, too.