It’s the first frost of the year this morning; dusting the rooftops and windshields, beginning to glint as the light finds its way lazily over the hills. The clocks stayed an hour this weekend, and now autumn is arrived, inevitably, surely.
It comforts me, in this time of upheaval, that each and every day keeps turning on. Autumn, into winter, into spring, into summer. Humans create tumult and division, spinning rules, walls and borders out of thin air, whilst all the while the earth ignores us as best it can, and the seasons keep on changing.
Condensation gathers on the window pane and obscures the red berries of the holly outside. The skies are bitterly clear. No longer the deep, deep blue of summer, but pale, washed-out and huge. The light illuminates all, picking out each yellow leaf, each branch, each blade of grass in fields across the valley.
For the blog, this is the time for planning. A chapter has closed, but I’m unsure what lies ahead. Everything has been done before, everything will be done again. I wonder what I can offer, with my quiet words and little life. Maybe that is the offer.
I struggle to pin down what I want from the blog, sometimes. A space to come and write, a corner to set down some words and try and make sense of life. A place to watch from. These things perhaps. In past weeks I closed some accounts – tumblr, medium, pinterest, snap. Shedding things that don’t fit any more. Maybe they never did.
This tea is almost finished and it’s time to think deeper. Cocooned in my Icelandic jumper from a charity shop in Reykjavik, sitting in the light pouring into the freezing conservatory, notebook and pen, mind and motivation. Forwards, and unfurl.