It’s around this time of year that I frequently find myself in a coffee shop, in an oversized hoodie that hangs down to my knees, strong, black coffee curling steam into the air. I often find a spot beneath heaters and breathe in bread and beans, conversation and laughter, food and flour.
October reaches out and curls its grasp around the trees, around stone walls and once-green fields, pulling winter ever closer. The air blows the scent of newly-fallen leaves, the wind brings the chill of future months. We wrap up in ever-bigger jumpers and begin to turn our attention inwards as outdoors, the world starts to fall and then sleep.
I love the turn of summer to autumn. The glimpse of a world just holding its breath, waiting for permission to release the gathered energy of the summer, to finally relax and begin to wind down, to rest and wait. The trees stand still as the leaves of another year float, whirl around, and begin to break down in the cycle of nature once more. The fruits of this year are dropped, weighed, counted. And this is why I like to do the same.
New Year, for me, is not a time for resolutions or reflections. I prefer the gentleness of autumn rather than the harsh crispness of a January morning. The warmth of summer and the memory of longer days is still fresh in my mind, possibility is very much real. I find autumn a time to take stock of the past year and to hope, dream and plan through winter, through the darker days, to the promise of that faint yellow light of spring and summer, luring me tantalisingly through the shorter, colder days, the days filled with glass and ice and inky black nights.
Autumn is a time of plenty, and it is in this mindset that I gather inspiration for my boldest dreams. In the cocoon of the soft change of the seasons, possibility stretches far in front, as we reap the rewards of what we have sown the previous year.