A gentle reminder of the small, simple things because sometimes I forget:
The last few golden evenings of summer. The air when it’s thick with the promise of pumpkins and fireworks and bright frosty mornings. The pleasing pop of a cork. Good Rioja. Sticky fried onions and barbecued sausages; licking the ketchup and mustard from my fingers. Laughter, from the belly and eyes glistening. Feeling seen. A warm breeze over bare feet. Salt and sand on my skin. Frothy, rolling waves. Sunlight playing on the water; glitter on green and blue. Home. Being heard. Waking in the still, hazy, pre-dawn quiet of the morning. Standing in the spot on the carpet warmed by the afternoon sun. Being alone. Long, rambling walks to untie the muddle of my thoughts. Lazy Sundays. Pyjamas. A mug of tea – dash of milk, no sugar. Openness. Showing up. The unfolding of beginnings, middles and ends. Writing to remember. And remembering why I started. Slate grey skies and menacing clouds. Rainy days. Reading, always. Particular songs that encourage nostalgia to tug at my sleeve. The curve of his body next to mine in the slow winding down of the day. Belonging. The feeling that it will all be okay.