Letter to the Season

Dear Season,

I am sitting in a heated house while I write this. I am very much aware that many people don’t have heated houses, and the cold is so biting, that I feel guilty and undeserving of such a blessing.

It crept up on us, you see. We weren’t quite expecting it. Do believe me when I assure you that I am not attacking you in any way, whatsoever. You started off quite warm. I didn’t wear a jacket for two weeks straight, and oh, last weekend you were so deliciously warm. ¬†You daintily shed off your summer garments, when they browned and frayed on the edges. Softly dropping them to the ground as you gracefully welcomed the inevitable change in your very soul.

But today you are cold. You breathe an icy breath on my toes, you whip through lush grass, and suddenly the blades look ominous and cutting. Where did your cold come from? Am I being too ungrateful in questioning it? Is it uncouth of me to expect warmth in the season of blustery winds and rainy days? You welcomed the storm, O’ season. You opened your warm arms, welcomed the ravaging winds, and now the air outside is biting and snappy, and sends us hurrying from one indoor place to another. Does it bother you that we no longer wish to revel under your skies? Or are you glad, Season.

I send you a shrug, O’ season. I see how people are bundling up against you, I see the shelves are groaning under the weight of all the goodies we are expected to hand out to children, I see the glamorous lights twinkling in the early evenings, and I send you a shrug.

Make of that what you will.

Good day to you.




Image Credit: Hazel Thomson Art

September in Review

I bought a second hand car last month. It is rickety, and the clutch is one of those old ones where it will stall the car if you don’t give a lot of gas whilst simultaneously pulling up the clutch. It has scuff marks all over it and the wheels are slightly bubbly with rust. But it is so clean and gorgeous and silver and it’s an adorable little 2005 Nissan Micra!

I left it with my parents this week so that they could make use of it before my father goes back to where he works abroad.

This is also the month where Aston Martin told my husband he might not have a job by October.

We had planned to go away in October but now it doesn’t seem like such a good idea given that we will be needing every penny that we have.

It doesn’t feel like such bad news, though. Because whatever happens, we will find a way. It’s sad news, of course. It would be the end of an era, in a way. It would have been an epoch in our lives.

In a way though, the change could be a good thing. A way to expand certain ideas. A pathway paved for new opportunities. The day is young, the sky is blue, and we are ever hopeful.

I am working now, of course. I tutor children. They pay me peanuts because I was green and asked for peanuts. I am still building myself up though. We will manage.

September was the month that leaves finally started falling from trees. She shrugged her shoulders amid the gusts of wind that signify a change in season, and golden leaves danced and twirled on the currents, sailing through deep blue skies, glinting in the fading summer sun.

September was the month that my doctors finally accepted that my hair loss was a real thing, and are starting to do something about it.

I read six books this month. I meant to read more but there it is!

September was beautiful this year. Her sunny days outnumbered her rainy ones. Her rain smelled earthy and fresh, and she showed us our first foggy morning of winter. It spread it’s soggy, smoky tendrils through the blades of grass and the branches of trees, and then fled when the sun beamed, leaving behind a dripping wetness, the world beaming with colour.

Was your September any good?