Old Roses, new sunshine

It's strange how the quality of the sunlight changes from summery to autumnal, literally from one day to the next as the calendar turns. There's that subtle lengthening of the shadows, the softening of the morning and afternoon glow, the warmth it brings to the air that lessens only slightly at first but very  distinctly. It catches me unaware almost every year. And this year I felt it this week, one morning as I walked to work - Thursday I think it was. It's time. The calendar has changed and the sunlight's changed as well. As it should. But this year it feels particularly unexpected. And too soon. 

For fairly obvious reasons, summer passed me by largely unnoticed and uncelebrated this year and I am sorry I missed it. I like summer. I live in a country where summer is especially brief and often unremarkable but all the more needed for that reason, to break what can otherwise feel like an endless grey chill. I long for summer and I relish every moment of it. But, anyone who knows me I think will agree, I am an autumn person. Always have been. I love autumn. I have autumnal colouring myself and I respond strongly to autumn colours and textures in my environment. I enjoy the drawing in and the cosiness that autumn facilitates. I love the quality of autumn sunlight. I don't even mind rain in autumn because it normally feels soft and comforting. I love the crispness at each end of the day and the energy it normally brings me. It's a time of year when I like to start new things, dream new dreams. It's all in the air.

This year I am struggling to appreciate it quite as much. I'm not feeling it. I'm struggling with feeling - either too much or too little seems to be the way it's going. I veer between raw sadness and an awful numbness, neither of which is very energetic. And I'm struggling to write. Anyone who's been coming around here for a while knows by now that I process almost everything through words and I'm battling to find them. Or feel that anything's significant enough to warrant them. Journal entries, correspondence and blog posts start to form in my head and then evaporate before I manage to get them down. And my camera remains in its case. No new projects seem to excite me enough to make a start on them. It's a debilitating space to be in. I know that this process of grieving and readjustment needs space to unfold as it must, and cannot be rushed. But I can't just stay here, drowning in nothingness or entirely wrapped up in introspection like the dragon that swallows its own tale. I'm trying to move through this in a constructive way and not let it crush or paralyse me. I'm on the lookout for something creative to get involved in. I'm going to make a concerted effort to browse and engage with the lovely spaces and people I used to visit every day or week. I'm trying to look outwards and not inwards and I'm trying to show up on the page more regularly even when all I can find to take note of is the beautiful fading roses in my bedroom or the sunlight that comes through the blinds with a slightly different texture. I'm not normally one for small talk but at the moment it seems to be the best I can manage. And talking about the weather is a time-honoured British tradition so I thought I'd start there. Please bear with me. 

And I hope that wherever you are, whatever the season and whatever you are up to, you have a lovely weekend.

♥ K