I’ve been thinking about light and darkness, i’ve been forced to.  This is the time of year when the light is being chased away by the rolling in of the autumn.  A friend said to me today that he couldn’t live anywhere without the seasons.  Then we tried to choose our favourite time of the year but instead decided, in a very irish way, that we could choose no favourite; but we liked the autumn best of all.

The air is slowly cooling and the green of the hedges is dissolving into rust.  It is the time for preparing and preserving.  The butter, our crude cottage thermometer, has lost it’s summer soft spread.  The bread is taking longer to rise in the evenings, and I am taking longer to rise in the mornings.

Tonight I was cutting strips of wood and framing the inside of the  storage doors in the loft conversion.  A squall was passing over and I was glad to be blocking up the drafty points with the tiny cloud of wintery weather passing over.  The growing winter dark is not really a thing to fear.  We often need the dark to rest, to sleep deeply at night.  We find it difficult to wake from it when it starts to eat into the working day.  Right now a little soul is softly sleeping in the dark, curled up and growing in it’s guardian; the lovely Sharon.  Of course the dark is nothing to fear as long as we have the light.  Seasons. Change.  The turning of things and the slow and steady path of the earth, and us all.

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