Glorious sunshine again yesterday. I gathered a few red tomatoes and wondered if the ones left green would ever turn now. The daytime skies here are quiet now, the evenings starting to fill with the plaintive calls of tawny owls. I have been ill this past week, watching much of the last of the sun from my window, lacking the energy to go outside to greet it.

This is a hard season, I struggle to find the mellow in its fruitfulness. The sense so many seem to have of preparation for rest and regeneration. The dying of the light seems to spark a primal reaction in me somehow. As though at this time I am more bear, more swallow, more tree than I am human. It is also a time so closely associated now with loss and grief that its sense of endings is heavier than its promise of beginnings for me.

I yearn to leave for where the sun still warms the sand. Or find a space to sleep through this harsh and unforgiving time. But perhaps I must learn to be still. to be still and wait.

And to keep finding ways to put my feelings into images and words. To try to make some small beauty from it all. It has always been my way to find light in the darkness. I think it was Aristotle who said that you should find what you are best at and do it to the best of your ability if you want to be happy (or maybe fulfilled at least)