Last night it rained. And then it drizzled peacefully for hours. Every evening I go outside and look about our front garden. I cast my eye over every shrub and tree. I watch them grow, as if I’d notice changes by the day. (I do.) There’s an obsessiveness to it. When I don’t touch roots and dirt and soil, I miss them. The scent of them – rich and earthy – feels like home. Like my own roots that go deep, and my own bark and branches and leaves that grow up and skywards.
October is fully herself now. Cold, dark, spooky. And mysterious.
I think of all my favorite cozy things, and lighting a candle in the evening is the most precious. A flickering flame kindles one within. And should it cast a scented spell – it’s all the more magical.
I’ve been writing a great deal, and sketching, and planning. New projects big and small. This change of seasons works wonders on the creative spirit.
‘Till next time.