Fall is literally falling. The skies are grey and rainy, full of clouds hanging deep over the land, brought by chilly winds. The next moment, a really warm sun blazes from a blue sky, only followed by more rain. The trees are bowing under their burdens of fruit and berries, their leaves turning slowly to red and yellow, painting the streets below them. The evenings are a strange mix of warmth and cold, always hinting at thunderstorms but bringing none.
The twins are toothing and clingy, our nights mostly spent apart, each one with a child in their bed. Change is coming, with grey, strong wings and I feel like crawling into a tiny, warm hut, curling in on myself and sleeping, ignoring everything around me. The Grey is upon us and despite the knowledge that before it comes, the world will celebrate itself with storms and colours and whirls and fruits, I can feel a wintery melancholy threatening on the edge of my mind. The need to throw myself into the change, the colours, the autumn, yet clinging to the last bit of summer and dreading the work that needs to come before change. I want to build a nest here, to really tuck ourselves into the dark seasons, hibernating with tea and cookies and candles and warmth and at the same time I want to let go of the airy, light feel of summer.
A lot of work waits for me, the need to change something here in our home, to make it better, to adjust to the ever-changing needs of the boys without losing what we need. It’s quite a task, one that I not yet really know how to face.
So for the moment I wait and listen to myself, looking at pictures for inspiration, preparing for the moment when the mood hits me and I can finally let the change happen.