Yearly review of a new beginning searching for the beauty.

Seeing the beauty, mostly weather, & warm words for tired minds.

Jan 01, 2024

Today’s Slow Sunday is a long one. I have brought together some of the warm words I have been writing, describing my year through simple things to sooth tired minds. It’s a long read, so snuggle up with something nice to drink, when you’re feeling like a dose of the very simple. I began this substack in March and so, todays Slow Sunday gives a summary of the year in my new city, it was a new beginning, searching for the beauty.

It’s a funny thing, but a lot of these words talk about the weather, I think this is because I live in England and we, on this little island, are always referring to the weather because it’s, always so changeable, and noticeable even in the city. The nice side of that is that noticing the weather, connects you to nature, and brings you back home to your own bodily rhythms.

Next week I will return with warm words, a recipe, Ayurveda, and outline all my plans over here on substack, for 2024.

The year began for my substack letters in March.

I AM looking out of the window at that silvery charcoal sky which is enveloping the world outside, creating a mist of fine rain drops. I see two birds, and now three, four and five gliding up through the clouds, then swooping down. Now they are gone and the sky keeps me company. And, also the rain on the roof opposite my sitting room window, painting red terracotta tiles shiny and rich.

To my right, a tree bush I’m hoping my neighbour won’t cut back is waving at me, with shiny glistening leaves. This, is a new beginning.

Opening one of my windows, I see birds flying in and out of the tree bush as they nestle into the inner branches and I, nestle into my ever so cosy day.

Early April

WE’VE JUST had two days of Mediterranean blue skies where I live, but today, April an ever changeable friend, brought the return of charcoal patterned with slivers of silver. These too, have been beautiful, just a different kind of beauty.

The birds outside my window were quieter, holed up in evergreen branches waiting for the rain to turn back into sunny days. I have been doing the same, as I wrote words for a book I’m working on that will be published next year. It felt very cosy knowing the spring and summer lie ahead, but right now I can bury my head in words, and my body in the sofa, to enjoy the last of winters hibernation.

THE SUN is low in the sky lighting up purple clouds with peach flurries. Early evening here in the U.K. as I write this post, and it’s so peaceful. The lighter days are returning bringing a feeling of new life.

THERE’S A tree outside my window that was pollarded last autumn. I’m looking at its thick patchy trunk and branches, the peeling bark shines peachy highlights, as the sun paints it warm. Soon the tree will be a silhouette.

Behind there is a church, now lived in, with tinted brickwork from the last of the evening sun. A cross on the roof apex, where a single wood pigeon sits cooing. So much to celebrate.

A crow flies out from behind the church and across the now pink and deeply purple sky. Followed by a single seagull diving down through the deep purple and pink. I drink this in to nourish my bones, as the little patch of planet where I live starts to lose sight of the sun. It’s been a perfect blue sky day.

TODAY, IS a typical April rainy day here in the UK. The red roof tiles opposite made shiny by the wet weather are back. It’s bank holiday Monday and I have a whole glorious day of playing with food. An at home day wrapped up in a watery morning of cosiness.

I WALKED under a sky lit up with apricot that cast a hushed but brilliant golden light on the bushes and wet earth. The birds were singing their way to bed. Two teenagers sat on a bench having a smoke, a dog rolled in the muddy grass and a dad was running his toddler home atop his shoulders. As I left the park and the Victorian metal gate clanged behind me, I crossed the rain soaked road sparkling in the early evening sunlight. There were pools of gold in the puddles.

Late April

SEPTEMBER WEATHER in the Catalan Pyrenees can be very changeable after the snows melt. I remember discovering this while staying at the project I mentioned in an earlier post, called Ecodharma. There was a storm one night, where a full moon had shone down only hours before, from a clear, dark and starry sky.

I was in my little caravan with a cosy fire, looking out of the big window that covered the end wall by my bed, as I curled up to sleep. I gazed at the moon and stars through the window, as I snuggled and drifted off. After a few hours the change in weather woke me. The sky above the Pyrenees was brightly lit, as thunder struck and lightening forked through.

I remembered the caravan was a metal box and, just in case, I put on my rain jacket and left. I walked in the wet, windy darkness, under lightening strikes and thunder, to where I knew there was partial shelter. From there I watched mesmerised as lightening lit up the sky, and the loudest thunder I’ve ever heard, rolled and cracked through the great hulk of the Pyrenees. Their big dark mountainous forms set alight with flashing skies. It was immense. I don’t have words to properly convey it.

The next day the storm was completely gone. The sky blue again with the sun shining on plants, rocks, old stone and gorse. And great big caterpillars made of black fur, that created wiggly lines across dirt tracts, as they moved head to tail. The gorse was a brilliant golden yellow, and the world looked scrubbed clean. Every colour of every thing, shining brighter than it had ever shone before.

I’M BLESSED to have an ever-changing skyline where I live. My home is in an ordinary suburban street and I have an upstairs apartment, with red tiled rooves and an ocean of sky for my view. There’s also a big tree in the street that stands like a friend in front of my sitting room window.

ON SUNDAY afternoons last winter, I cosied into the sofa that became my boat, and gathered books around me, gazing out at the ever-changing ocean-like skyline.

Even when its grey, there are subtleties of hue my human eye can catch. There are wood pigeons and magpies too, that fly past the windows, ever so close. Or perch on the pollarded tree. And there are seagulls, soaring through the clouds further out in this ocean of sky. Today, I sighted my first black crow close up, while writing these words. Jet black wings and body came out of no where, landed on the tree. Then took off just as quickly and was gone. But in that tiny moment, I felt the crow in my sitting room. We met.

When I take the time to gaze without hope or expectation for anything to happen. Not needing anything, not searching, and not grasping at the sense there is anything to get. It is a beautiful thing. And, when I do this my eyes; they feel different. Different to when I’m looking at a screen, or ‘getting things done’. They come alive. It is as if they have been fed. They feel wide awake and clear. I feel as though I have just arrived properly in the room. In my life.

Sometimes on a busy and full day, the sight of a single seagull surfing the air currents cuts through my ‘to do’ list. I’m reminded to gaze without expectation or gain. A fraught day becomes one that soothes and calms, and I remember the stillness in my bones.

Early May

YESTERDAY I was up before the sun rose, looking at the wet sheen across the tarmacked road. There was deep tissue serenity in that, giving me a spacious mind as the world painted itself into existence, ever so slowly. And, I didn’t check my phone.

There were rooftops glistening, tree trunks shining, green leaves sparkling, grass with raindrops and clay grey sky. Peace, was all around. It turned out to be a cosy weather day, one that curled itself around people as they moved through the weekend, being, doing and being some more. Or doing, being and doing some more.

Today, in the early hours, there was actual sun to be seen. As it rose up, a perfectly blue sky came into being, with a gentle scattering of lace-like cloud.

LAST NIGHT, I sat under a starry sky with my neighbours, around a fire. The burnt orange flames crackled, lighting up the area of the garden we were sitting in. There was a party a few doors along. They had fireworks that lit up the sky above our heads. It was fantastic. I’ve never been so close to such a display; glittering, sparkling and showering, the sky dazzling us with colours. Colours that appeared suddenly with bangs. Ever so loud. Then disappeared into a silent dark black sky and, silence.

A neighbours cat came and joined us by our fire. Silently. Black like the night with a big fluffy tail.

It got me thinking about this ever so beautiful planet we are on.

I think we live in an incredible universe, on a beautiful blue green treasure, our home, which spins so silently in space.

As I looked up at the sky and stars, I thought about how we come from the ones that burnt out long ago. They scattered themselves across the universe as they exploded, and we come from that. We really are, made of stardust.

How precious life is, that's what I was thinking. There really is beauty all around I thought. This morning I found it as I walked across the uncut grass and through the dandelions.

I remember when I was 8 years old, living up north in the UK, how it snowed so much one year. I had a new turquoise fur-like coat. It had just arrived in the post earlier that day. In the evening I was allowed out to play in the snow, in the dark, in my new coat. I dived into the snow covered grass to test out this new turquoise furry piece of splendour, then lay back, my coat scrunching the the sparkling white ground as i looked up at the stars. I felt so at home out there. Me, the night sky, the stars and my turquoise furry coat. Those stars, they twinkled at me.

Late May

TURQUOISE SEA, rock pools, sandy beaches, seashells, sandcastles, sea spray, ice lollies and ice-cream. Dangling feet over a sea wall while eating fish and chips out of paper, salt and vinegar, the sound of seagulls and the smell of seaweed on a summers breeze. Simple things.

When I was a kid we moved a lot. Once we lived in a big stone house with gardens. I used to collect caterpillars, watch butterflies, pick raspberries and hide in a pigsty.

There were bell pulls in the bedrooms that hadn’t been used for a long time. There were window sills with cushions on them, a mangle in the kitchen. The kitchen had a terracotta floor and big table. Memories.

I think we lived there for about 6 months then moved to another village, into a modern house with a garden that had fossils in it. The village had a church, a pub, a sweet shop and a chemist. I helped paint the church bells once. Had to climb up a long ladder for about 5 minutes, to reach the bells in the tower. They were HUGE. On the way down the bells chimed. My little 8 year old body clung to the ladder while my hands wanted to cover my ears. The drop was hundreds of feet. I didn’t fall. I didn’t go up again either.

Then outside the sun was shining. Walking past the pub I remembered how much I loved chipitos, and bought some through a window onto the street with the money I’d earned painting the bells. I remember the smell of old beer and tobacco smoke as it unfurled itself into the air around crates of bottles in the entrance. There was a bench in the entrance too, where old men sat, some smoking pipes. Pipes and beards were a bit of a 70’s thing. Life was a different pace at the end of the 60’s and early 70’s, one where there was time to know yourself, and the belief that, maybe, things can be good. The really good things, well I think they were there before, and still are.

THE SKY last night had a tiny slither of white shining moon with a solitary star. They shone so brightly.

I arrived back home to serenity and silence under that silvery moon. The front garden, small as a postage stamp but ever so more beautiful, dripped in wisps of moonlight. Trees down the street silhouetted against darkness. This big black sky with one twinkle in it, reminded me of my time in the Catalan Pyrenees.

Out on the Pyrenees at night, sometimes lying on the earth to sleep, the Catalan sky was all that seemed to exist. Bursting with stars that painted diamonds. Stardust met stardust, as I gazed into space. And, when I closed my eyes and went to sleep, this twinkling blanket of beauty came with me. In the morning, when I opened my eyes to early new beginnings, I would be met by an immense ocean of half-lit blue, sun rising slowly, pale salmon mountains painting into life. And sometimes there was gold.

I would get up and walk over to where I could look down into the mist covered valleys, to where the world did not exist yet. I would sit with my morning cup and watch as the mists gradually dissolved, and the world ever so gradually, came back into existence. To the sound of goat bells, somewhere in the distance.

But now on this, little piece of planet, the sun is going down and the serenity of a slow evening gazing at the trees and sky lays itself before me. So blessed.

THE POLLARDED tree outside my window has grown tufts of leaves on all the branches that the birds are enjoying visiting. And I’m relaxing to the gentle sounds of evening. As the day draws in I slowly drift towards the end of my day, as the sun disappears, to burrow down for the night. Outside the pavements are empty and the twilight paints itself across the houses in the street. The bank holiday weekend sends promises of sunshine, and feasting and having fun. And the feasts, they may just be a buttery risotto with some lemon zest and salt. But it’s enough, because the sky is above, the earth is below, my window boxes are full of parsley, and there is still wild garlic in the garden. These, are good times.

NEW BEGINNINGS. That time when the past has gone and the new hasn’t quite formed yet. The world freshly painted and the paint still wet, glistening and, with a light touch of a sponge, can be taken in slightly different directions. The day outside on this early morning of gentle possibilities, rises up with bright sun in blue sky and a few wisps of cloud, still, transparent and hardly there at all.

LAST NIGHT as the sky started to lose its light there were smudges of blue and apricot-pink, as air filled with silence and sun slipped towards the horizon. The smell of earth began to rise and people closed their windows, the street putting itself to bed.

I saw the post box at the end of the road shining red in the setting sun. The leaf-tufted pollarded trees out front were reaching tall into the sky, with their new leaves rustling. A lone magpie hammered out his ch tak ch tak ch tak, then. Just the sound of stillness.

Time passed gently through this slow rhythm full of treasures. The sky’s fading rosy glows drifting into dark ink. Leaving the night sky watching over the hours before sunrise. Ink-filled, cloudless, painting itself into a twinkling canopy, for night owls and hedgehogs, badgers, foxes, moths and bats. The changing of day to night and night to day. Beautiful. With it’s ever so slow nothing to hurry about rhythm, folding outwards like gentle ripples on a lake. And I thought to myself. This is sanity. And then I remembered. We are part of that.

Early June

I’VE BEEN enjoying the English summer this week, especially yesterdays Mediterranean blue sky. No longer just a dream in my mind, but actually out there on the other side of my window, deep, clear, dazzling and, blue. All things change and It is perfect. Next week I go and visit my sister in Spain for a week. It’s the first time I’ve been, and I’m looking forward to getting to know the sky there, the sun, and everything. I wonder if it will be a different type of blue, and if I will feel different being there.

I have always wanted to travel, but for various reasons didn’t leave the UK until my 50th year. What a treat that was. Paris my first experience, and the Catalan Pyrenees my second. At the end of my stay at the project in the Pyrenees I walked the Camino de Santiago, from Logrono. It took me four weeks and was magnificent. One day I will do it again.

There is something so deeply peaceful about just putting one foot in front of the other with nothing to think about. Body flowing to a constant, gentle rhythm of limbs as they move back and fourth. At peace with themselves.

Mid June

I ARRIVED to visit my Sister in Vejer de le Frontera. She met me in Cadiz.

We walked the streets and one of the beaches. Sand between my toes, the sun hiding behind a smudge grey sky but the air warm, as my sister introduced me to this oldest of European cities. And then, the winds came—the levanteras—blowing in all directions. They blew in swirling gusts, whipping up the sea front as the sandy beach fell like pin pricks on our arms and legs, a catapult of many tiny darts. This warm wind whirled through the towering palms trees that patterned the sky, like fireworks.

We ate ice-creams, ducked when pieces of rotting palm tree fell suddenly to the ground, wandered past the Cuba looking sea front, sat outside a bar, ambled under ancient arches, mingled in plazas and trod cobbled walkways meeting motorcycles that appeared without introduction. And, we people watched to my hearts content.

As the evening drew in we caught a bus to Vejer de la Frontera. By the time darkness fell our bus was climbing a road that curled steeply upwards, with 45 degree turns for 2 km. And then, there it was. A riotous pattern of warmly lit windows jutting into the nights sky, the frontier town of Vejer de la Frontera. We got off the bus and the winds had gone as quickly as they appeared.

I HAVE been taking photos of the doors and cobbled streets I8ve encountered in Vejer. There are so many beautiful doors, and the cobbled streets have lovely patterns. Sometimes people leave the door to these houses with apartments within, open, and you discover that nothing is ever the same on the other side. There were all sorts of patios gardens behind these doors with stone staircases and winding pathways. The sun moved in between clouds as I wandered the outer walkways that mirrored these inner cobbled pathways. And, in this wandering up and down, spiralling round and round, a soft enchantment blew over my Western wearied mind, and I thought; there is magic here.

Last night we went to a bar where lots of walkways meet in the old town of Vejer. We sat outside playing back gammon with different characters who have made Vejer de la Frontera their home. I settled into the evening rhythm, life meandering around me, snippets of conversation unfurling into the night.

The warmth of humanity. A sane pace of life, refreshing, still; another world. Nothing needing to be done. Everything to be enjoyed. We ate chips, chatted about everything and nothing, sipped at drinks, won and lost the gammon and on the way back to the patio apartment my sister rents, we passed a stream of cats lacing across one of the streets. And then we were home, and I was quickly asleep.

THIS MORNING I sat outside a cafe with my sister and we ate toast with olive oil and tomato. I went for a wander to get lost and found, in the winding cobbled streets that thread their way through the different quarters of this ancient frontier town, piled high with white medieval buildings, and beautiful cobbled streets.

FOR THE last two days the skies have been blue, the sun hot, the breeze welcome, the sea soft, and the sand silken. We have lazed in the soft and gentle breeze under a sun that heats the skin like no sunshine I’ve met in the UK. I floated in a sea that cocoons every part of your body, mind and heart. The gentle, rippling waves lift you up, then down. Over and over, ever so gently. I gazed at the glistening sea. It rippled and shone under the dancing sunlight. That sea, it twinkled at me, as I disappeared from view, in this idyll of warm, turquoise warmth and softness. Even the air feels different; softer, clearer and full of kindness. I floated for a long time, again and again, under a blue sky full of white ink blots. My body feels rested, sleepy, and deeply refreshed.

Back home

I SIT now looking out of the window at my overflowing window boxes. The night sky drawing in and the rooftops putting themselves to bed under a darkening sky. The cushions on my sofa the colour of Spanish sea. A warm glow of sweet oranges moves through my mind, as the slow pace of people living in a hot land with beautiful sea, seeps through my bones. And I think to myself, perhaps I can weave that sweetness of the oranges, and the ever so relaxed pace of everyday existence, into my life. I remember how struck I was when each night the bin men came along the narrow cobbled walkways, in a little van that looked like a small dumper truck. Two men picked up the rubbish left outside each house on a hook, while laughing and joking, completely at ease. As if they hadn’t a care in the world.

When I got back a few hours ago, I went to do a food shop, and I pretended I was walking across the hot, golden, softly, silken sands of that beach. In my mind I could see the friendly sea, and the coastline of kindness. And my mind, well it was still singing to the soft touch of kind surroundings, as my feet, ever so slowly, stepped to their own rhythm.

Early July

THE BIRDS are starting to put themselves to bed. A magpie screeches it’s call and then there is silence. Rain clouds are feeding plant roots, and the cool, damp evening air wraps itself around little creatures, bedding down into the thirsty soil. It has been a good weekend.

Tonight’s sky, silken, silvery with inky clouds and soft golden ripples; nestles around the houses, rooftops and trees. For a moment absolute silence in the street, with cool air wending it’s way through open windows.

Now, faint sounds of birdsong, a rumble of traffic in the distance, and from no where a crow cuts across the skyline. Night arrives.

GLORIOUS SUMMER day prepares to rest. Gazing without focus, vision becomes wide nestling me into my environment. There's new green leafy branches on the tree out front, gently moving in a cool breeze. Cloud formations are shape shifting, ever so slowly. Other tree tops along the road are dancing to a rhythm, red roof tiles and chimneys hover, in the end of day sky.

My window boxes merge into this silhouetting scene, as little slithers of the sitting room, slowly disappear into dusk. I listen hard but there are no sounds. This end of day scene, shimmering, silently puts itself to bed.

When I was a kid I loved this time of day, making mud pies in the garden out back. Not wanting to come in. Wishing I could fly up into the trees and cuddle with the owls before they went out hunting, moon shining down and stars sparkling like diamonds through the twiggy treetops. I once dreamt that someone threw a bag of diamond stars into my heart. It was a nice dream.

Late July

A PEARLY sky is drifting across my view with soft pinks, pale blues and smudges of bluey mauve. The shapes keep shifting, ever so slowly, while the leaves on the tree out front gently rustle, hardly moving at all. The pink fading now, just mother of pearl blue remains, soft smudges start to turn day into night and the last gull glides off to bed. A wood pigeon flies into the tree out front, a magpie cha tak cha taks, then this little corner of the world where I sit and stare, seems to slumber, as the sky turns into night.

This post-midsummer, slowly darkening sky, stretches deep and wide with twinkles from stars arriving late, under the hush of nearly early morning hours. Fires are to be had, casting orange slithers into the darkness, while friends sip on glasses of something, telling stories and listening to each other’s lives, as conversation unfurls with the flames and wood smoke coils.

I walk silently into the garden out back, and find the little pile of kindling I collected from a wood. There are twigs of different sizes, and branches; some thin, some larger like little logs. Ever so quietly, I build a small fire in a fire wok I found along the road, strike a match, lighting up the darkness, then sit. The smell of earth is in the air as the flames trickle around the twigs. Slowly at first, so I blow a little from underneath and soon, with gentle feeding of increasingly thicker twigs, I have a small fire to keep me company, under the stars.

I wait for owls, but tonight they don’t come. It’s just me, the smell of the earth, a few stars twinkling, and the crackle of wood as orange flames warm my face.

I remember other fires I have sat around, as memories of old friends unfurl across my mind, cocooning my senses. Perhaps I shall sleep out under the sky tonight, earth beneath and stars above, staring at the firelight, its flickering flames as the branches turn into embers.

Late August

A GENTLE day unfurls into a cloud-filled sky; I think it’s going to be an underwater day, the ground and plants will like that. The birds will hide out in the bushes and trees. There will be lots of umbrellas and raincoats and people getting wet. Cars and buses swooshing through puddles, and in the evening, traffic lights will shine like jewels on the wet tarmacked roads.

It’s very still and quiet on this early morning. Ripples have started to appear in the sky, like ruched velvet. The early morning birdsong is quieter than usual. A momentary sound of a distant plane. No breeze yet, no movement; everything is absolutely still.

I look out of the window as the weather cocoons itself around the world outside. Orange and yellow flowers in my window boxes, and the tree out front waves it’s branches; a breeze begins to stir the still air. This cloud-filled sky wraps itself like a blanket around the little piece of the planet where I sit. It is beautiful.

I”m spending my day off in my boat with books and papers and pencils; knowing sunnier times will return. Moored up, cosy, warm and in partial hibernation; like the birds in the trees waiting for heavy, watery skies to turn blue again.

THE RAIN paints itself across the city skyline again, falling down as a few big plops at first, gradually becoming many until the sound of a million drops of rain can be heard, pounding down to slightly different rhythms, as they gush from blocked guttering outside the back door. The charcoal light has a warm glow of translucent mellow yellow. I’m not sure how nature manages this, it actually looks like the darkened world is shining, as thirsty land and plants out back enjoy the heavy downpour and I, laze in the comfort of my little boat writing these words, mesmerised by the magnificence of sight and sound. Soon the sun will shine again, with blue skies and new beginnings as the circle game of life goes round and round.

ONE DAY I’m going to have a piece of land to design a food garden, a little forest garden too, both flowing with wild life and hidden spaces. There will be a greenhouse on a south facing wall and a potting shed. Up in the treetops, beyond the compost, I’ll make a treehouse with a rope ladder and sit up there on rainy days, with the rope ladder pulled in if I feel like hiding.

I will invite friends, and sometimes I will leave them there and take off to surf the gentle turquoise ocean, under blue skies and sun that dapples the waves. I might hide under the twinkling surface of the sea, rippling like clusters of diamonds, to take a break from life’s little hiccups.

Then I’ll return and grow beetroots just beyond a hazel arch covered in jasmine and honeysuckle, and sweet, sweet, smelling roses.

Or, perhaps, I will grow orange and lemon trees instead. With figs and olives underplanted with rosemary and lavender, comfrey and flowers for the bees. And sit at an old table playing back gammon with friends while munching tapas and gazing out at the world rising up and falling away, on a sunny blue-skied day, where far far in the distance there is a little boat coming into shore.

Then again, I may simply surf the ocean of life’s arisings.

Or sit like an owl in a tree.

Early September

THE SKY is dark and full of whispered promises that soon the sun shall return. Stars and moon hidden. The black furred cat next door returns home as I make my way up the garden path, happy to know sleep is but a few steps away. The whole street wrapped up in silence; damp, birds asleep, owls hidden in treetops and the fox roaming. No rain though, as I open the front door, climb the stairs. Leaving all the lights off, enjoying the day put to bed. I drink in the beauty of the change from day to night and, gazing at the hushed night sky, I take this peaceful mind to bed. To dream of boats and stars and setting suns.

Mid September

WE HAD some sun yesterday and then as evening began to arrive inky clouds started to gather, painting the view from my window with charcoal and blue-grey. The tree out front silhouetted against the setting sun and blue sky.

In the afternoon a rich Mediterranean blue had been the backdrop to this gorgeous tree, which had been pollarded last autumn, yet has grown back so quickly. It has a hole in the middle of the branches that lets me see inside. I watch little birds with high pitched tweats fly in and out. The magpie hasn’t returned for a while, but the wood pigeons have. This morning there was just one tiny bird on a telegraph wire next to the tree, it danced its little heart out then flew inside.

Late September

THE WIND is blustering outside my window and the tree, yet to turn golden, has branches that are throwing themselves every which way. And then, for a few moments they stop, and just the leaves on the end of the branches flutter. Sky full of clouds, for a moment the sun seemed to be behind them then, more layers of charcoal sky painted their way across the skyline. I think there is going to be a storm. The atmosphere is silent, very still. The ground stands waiting and all the little creatures, are not to be seen. My window boxes, still full of coriander and parsley flutter, then stop, then start again in rhythm with the tree. In the distance there is the sound of a city moving from day to night.

A COUPLE of today’s ago I was enjoying warm blue skies, even though it is autumn. The tree and window box plants out front were very still. The rooftops on the street were dry and the sun and shadows rippled across the walls of my sitting room, as the tree out front rustled it’s leaves. I heard an early morning car rumble out of the street, and the bin men throwing sacks of rubbish into their huge cart. It reminded me of when I visited my sister earlier in the year, in Vejer de la Frontera. There, the bin men came at the end of each day, two of them in a tiny dumper van the size of a car. They seemed to enjoy their work, laughing and swooping the bin bags people had left outside their homes on hooks, into the open-topped, tiny dumper, which moved across the cobbled winding pathways.

Early October

OUTSIDE THE first autumn leaves have started to fall to the ground, mostly lemon with a little lime, the wet pavement underneath speckled like a kaleidoscope. As the air gets cooler, the colours will get warmer, until the autumn winds dry them out and all colour fades away. But, for now, the riotous show that colours our lives each autumn, is still a promise. Soon the leaves will be all the different hues of red and orange, mirroring the colours of my favourite vegetables at this time of year.

It was so silent when I got up this morning. Grey sky. Heavy clouds promising rain. Everything was just so still, the birds quiet, the tree out front unmoving and my window boxes still too. Then, as I sat down at my computer, the scaffolders arrived a few doors away and loud noises clanged and bashed into a skip, then, absolute silence again. It’s an underwater day.

Mid October

THE SKY is peachy with swathes of translucent clouds and one seagull flying through. The tree out front, has branches still covered in leaves that move this way and that, to a gentle rhythm.

As I write about the tree it’s branches start waving energetically, so close to the window I feel like I’m inside the tree. This, is a treehouse sitting room where I sit, on a suburban street where the tree outside my window is showing me that autumn, has started to arrive.

The coriander in my window boxes has gone to flower, waving about in the autumn breeze. Soon the seeds will arrive and drop back down into the soil.

Most of the birds have gone to distant lands and the magpie which will stay, has made its home in a different tree this year, so birdsong has become rare by my window. And the crow is no where to be seen. I shall find enjoyment in the silent airwaves as the branches of the tree out front swirl, looking forward to more chatak chataking and jet black wings in future times.

The sky is blue and silver now, forever changing.

My favourite seasons have always been spring and summer, but as I get older I’m learning to enjoy the hibernation that autumn can bring—cosy times, slowing down, warm jumper, juniper berries, sun low in the sky, golden light, warm stews, candles, clear blue mornings, starry nights early in the evening, flickering fires inside and out, autumn leaves.

Late October

AS THE sky changed from dark night to early morning, I was walking to the bus stop. The colours in the sky were treasures of dark charcoal blue; like cotton wool dipped in ink. I saw a cat on a roof. And as I walked, pale salmon and bright blue chinks started to appear, through the deep charcoal sky.

I was the only person queuing at the bus top. A few solitary cars drove along the normally busy road, and cyclists made the most of the early morning emptiness. I sat down by the bust stop and took in the view opposite. There was a roof with one chimney, that had a black crow standing next to it. The crow swooped down joining two others on the pavement. They took turns swooping up then back down. Pigeons arrived eating pieces of left over food, dropped by passers by the night before, and seagulls landed to share in the takings. Peeking out above the roof opposite, was the top part of a tree, and one of the crows went and sat on it, black against the lightening sky.

The salmon and blue chunks of sky became clusters, and pale yellow ribbons started to appear through patches of the charcoal blues. By the time I reached my destination, the sun was shining, and autumn winds blew leaves off trees, in beams of sunlight.

By lunchtime, heavy grey skies had arrived again and cars swished through the down pour on the street below. People ran from shop to shop and shop to car, while I was behind a window at work looking down.

On my way home the rain kept streaming, washing all the buses, houses and streets. Traffic lights shone making colourful roads, and everybody was swooshing and splashing and sloshing to, somewhere.

I came home, cosy through the front door, put another jumper on and, made a cup of tea. I put all my little lamps on and the sitting room sparkled. And I sat, looking at the rain on the windows, and enjoying thinking about all the lovely people I met today.

Early November

THE EARLY morning sky was deep and blue this morning. A tiny bird flew from the tree out front, I could almost reach it with my hand as I leaned through the open window, smelling the early morning air. It was a new day.

In the distance, a seagull soared through the sky. Down on the ground I saw a snail moving towards the garden gate, ever so slowly. Worms were wiggling in the soil, and I spotted a buddleia growing out of someone’s roof on the way to work. Cracked pavements had tufts of wild grass pushing through. I saw a bee collecting pollen from a late flowering lavender. Then I saw another bee diving deep into rosemary flowers, pale mauve to match a changing sky.

Mid November

GENTLE EARLY morning with the sun painting green leaves, most of which haven’t turned on the tree out front, or fallen yet, lit up with memories of summer.

Insects fly past my window, and the flowering coriander towers out of window boxes, waving gently. Sunshine comes into the sitting room lighting up my day, and the silence really is, golden.

As I look around my room, the paintings on the walls bring fondness alive. The air is cooler and I snuggle into this safe space before looking at what is happening in the world, and scooping it all into my heart. I don’t know if that makes a difference, but it lets me feel less powerless.

Sometimes, the depth of beauty and peace on days like this, fills up my bones, and I take that out into the world. Quietly. Almost invisible, but sometimes people notice, and they smile at me. Sometimes, noticing the ordinary beauty of things can cause peace to come spilling out of your heart. Perhaps we can paint the world with that.

As I walked down the road later in the day, slippery lemon and lime leaves sparkled across the pavement. The sun still shining. My insides still feeling the early morning peace. My eyes searched for pockets of beauty.

When I returned home the tree outside my window was a mosaic of light and shadow, glistening and moving and in front of one of the windows, a single string of cobweb was lit up by the sun.

There are a few copper leaves, on that tree out front, but not many and hardly any have dropped yet. Soon that will change, and I will be able to see the old church opposite, where people live. There’ll be birds balancing on its roof, but today I see the tree, the green leaves, the sunshine; and one string of brightly lit up cobweb, blowing in the breeze.

Late November

THE SETTING sun went down on a Saturday filled with friendship, nourishment and taking time to do ordinary simple things. Like dreaming of beautiful places. To fill my mind and the minds of those around me with hints of sanity. To keep minds healthy. I imagined myself in a boat in Venice, as the sun rose and the skies rosy warm glow woke people from their slumber.

I’d booked myself onto a foraging walk, ambled through the Avon gorge learning about the edible and medicinal plants growing there, enjoyed the sunshine and got drenched when rain bucketed down. The pavements and roads sloshing and swooshing with water, fallen leaves copper, green and yellow scrunched across the wet glistening tarmac. Cars sprayed water into the air, people ran for cover, but I enjoyed getting utterly soaked and splattered my way home, fingers tingling from stinging nettle pickings.

The next day the windows were covered in raindrops. I enjoyed this underwater autumn day beginning. The pre-dawn darkness kept street lights shining warm on the wet road, cosy. And then, as the light started to appear, deep charcoal clouds changed into pinks and golds. And the seagulls swooped and dived and rode the air currents.

Early December

IT IS charcoal here today, again, I think soon there will be a downpour, again. Everything is silent, except for the tree branches that keep swishing through the air. Tarmac wet, leaves, a copper gold mosaic across the street. Raindrops on telegraph wires, a single one plops to the ground. People inside, birds hiding it out in treetops and hedges. Lights on in windows where people are working from home. Coriander flowers fluttering in my window boxes, a bird chirps from close by. And now, a man carrying bags of food arrives back home, wet, but looking happy with his purchases. At the end of the road I see a car drive by, while more leaves fall down, and next doors cat scampers through a swirl of copper and gold.

THE NEXT days weather was different, sunny, and as day turned, the shining sun disappeared as afternoon grew older. Squashed leaves, bright coppers and reds, scrunched across the damp ground, drifting into twilight. The world moved from bright sunny day, to shimmers of grey then darkened skies. I arrived home as little lights sparkled on in people’s homes.

TODAY WAS a complete winters day, and it stayed that way all day. The tree out front still covered in leaves, but lots on the ground too; damp, lush and slippery. Gentle breeze through the leaves on the trees, branches waving, and crows along the road cawing. It was an underwater day, but beautiful. Tonight, I’m going to dream about boats and owls and moonlight.

MY WHOLE life seems to be lived to the rhythms of the weather.

It’s been a week of changeable bright sunny skies mixed with rain and rainbows. One early morning the sun was so bright in the blue sky, clear except for one dark cloud. Walking up a hill I enjoyed stepping along the wet pavement, sounds of birds singing my ears alive. I walked for quite a while, head down, lost in all the different leaves. Some squashed into the pavement, wet, brown and copper; shining bright in the sun. Others, looking like they did a few weeks ago, flattened lemons and limes across the pavement. Some still on trees, falling down; ever so gently. Fluttering in the air, and that’s when I saw it. An incredible rainbow in the sky.

Huge it was, complete, and so clear. I just stood and stared, and then head up for the rest of my walk. The colours were soft but clear, you could almost see through them. The trees underneath were like firework displays, branches lit up by the sun. There were hardly any cars and I heard the birdsong all the way up the hill.

When I came back down the rainbow was gone and the sun hidden, as rain pattered onto the trees, leaves, and pavement. Cars swished past me. Bushes wet and glistening, a softness in the air as those gentle raindrops fell, and the light in the sky, made as if there was still a hint of sunshine across the city landscape.

When I got home the rain had stopped and the sun bright again. I stayed out and cleared huge bundles of fallen-down leaves from the tree out front.

SUNDAY MORNING found me getting up to black night skies that gradually lightened as I went about my early morning. No lights on in the windows across the street, everyone still snugly in bed. That used to be me, but I’ve come to appreciate these early morning hours, where the silence is deep and you can swim through still waters as the day, gradually, paints itself into being.

A fox tiptoed behind a car and the tree out front stirred. Cold frosty air clung to the outside windows and everything was fast asleep. Except me and the fox.

It turned into a charcoal day with heavy cloud filled sky. But, yesterday was bright sunshine low in the sky, painting everything gold. I went to visit a friend in Bath who isn’t well and we discussed plans of possibility, wellness, and laughed, about stuff.

I wended my way back to Bristol from Bath, watching the sky turn from light to dark and appreciating the twinkling lights on a giant Christmas tree outside the abbey, to the smell of people drinking mulled wine at the Christmas market. I was content to just wander the streets back to the train station watching the moon and drinking in the atmosphere.

The moon’s full tomorrow, but tonight it is already huge in the clear black sky. Owls will be been terwit terwooing somewhere, and people with warm hearts for each other, will be walking hand in hand, under the moon and stars. Beautiful it is, perhaps the sky will be clear again tomorrow.

IT WAS, and a crisp night too, with clear sky when the full moon shone down, white against a nearly jet black sky, with Jupiter shining a little way to the right.

The air was cold in a good way, as the night felt clear. I passed the dark park, where trees rose out of the ground surrounded by the silence of night, and silhouetted. Dark too, were nearby streets, weaving their way between others, lit with city lampposts; mingling themselves. I walked this tapestry of beauty home, enjoying the feel of the night air, and watching the moon and Jupiter with each corner that I turned.

Sometimes, it’s nice to be out walking the city at night when no one else seems to be about. Meandering this way and that. On this evening I emerged from dark park-lined roads, onto a main street. The empty, silent, dark night, with silhouetted trees, had wended it’s way towards a street bright with bars and takeaways; with people out doing things. And then, that too slowly disappeared, as I moved on to other streets where city lamps were few between.

The moon shone down through tree branches keeping me company, and cosy lamplit windows of homes that hadn’t pulled their curtains yet whispered, it’s warm in here. And then up the last road, trees swaying a little, moon still shining through branches and, absolute silence, as I turned up the garden path. Wet and dry leaves shining in the moonlight, softly scrunching my way to the front door. I turned, and stared at that moon. For quite a while. And then, took myself inside to the warmth of a lamplit window, whose curtains were not yet drawn.

Mid December

FROST ON the rooftops, winter settling in with shortening days, heading towards the solstice. A time for cultivating warmth inside and out. Everything slows down in nature including the needs of our own body. Where I can, I snuggle inwards with cosy food, slow days, big jumpers, nourishing reads and food to make my insides happy.

THIS MORNING another beautiful sunrise where leafless trees look like fireworks again, silhouetted. The sun rising across wet red-tiled roofs, and the tree out front losing all it’s leaves now.

The frost of yesterday has given way to rain, and the air is milder. Worms fall asleep under the surface of the soil. Seagulls swoop through air currents high in the sky, while wood pigeons and magpies rest on rooftops. Soon, people along the road who have children, will be filling their windows with festive images made of coloured tissue paper, lit up by lamplights behind, and others will string lights through their hedges. As evening draws in, and skies turn dark. Our road will become a Christmas wonderland. I’ve been thinking about how much has happened since last Christmas, in the world and in my own life; perhaps in yours.

EARLY THIS morning, I went out walking through rain in this Sunday morning city where I live, to see what I could find. I found cars slooshing along wet roads and cyclists getting wet. The main road shops were readying themselves for the buzz of Sunday shoppers. I cut off into a park and found piles of wet leaves, muddy grass with pools of water laying across the surface, worms having a feast and the caravan cafe, had come and set up its chairs and tables no matter the weather; loyal to any dog walker that may want a cuppa and homemade cake.

The sky was a mix of dark charcoal blues, with hints of sun rising behind. It was a beautiful wet and windy start to the day, where everything was wrapped in a half light.

Later, as the rain eased off, the wind increased and all the pearly raindrops fell in a big swoop from the tree branches. The sound of the wind in the top of the trees reminded me of when I was young. I loved falling asleep to stormy nights; rain on the windows, wind in the treetops and sometimes thunder and lightning. I’d get up then, to look out of the window as the sky lit up, and the night air rumbled.

By the time I arrived back home today, both the wind and rain had disappeared. Some of my neighbours were in the street clearing up the leaves. A young lad had swept so many up into big piles. I stopped to help put them into the green bins. This is the first time since moving here 18 months ago that I have met my neighbours, it was nice to discover they did exist, such is life in a city. Perhaps we will meet again. It was nice, this brief interlude of community.

I CAN see the church across the road, now that the tree out front has lost its leaves. At night, the man who turned it into apartments and strung lights up out the front, sometimes turns them on and it looks like a little palace. Last year he put a tissue paper nativity scene in his windows and the whole thing looked like a little Christmas card. I used to leave my curtains open so that I could watch it as I fell asleep. No matter how old I get, I never really seem to grow up.

IT’S ONE of those mid-winter days, where the sky is white-grey with cold air and the silence wraps itself around everything in the street. People staying cosy inside, even next doors cat is not out, fluffy swishing tail curled up and staying warm.

I did see a blackbird in the leafless tree out front. And then it was gone. That’s how it is as we move towards midwinter isn’t it. Lots of stillness and silence until spring comes again.

Unless you live in a city.

Today, I sipped my warm mug of tea and then piled on jumpers to keep me company as I made my way out under light grey skies for another warm drink, somewhere. This somewhere was warm and bustling with kind hearts and cheerful chatter. People happy to see each other, taking pleasure in the simple things—laughing, chatting, munching, slurping. Nourishing bodies and minds.

THE OTHER night, I saw so many Christmas lights painting people’s homes in all colours and designs, as I sat in the back of a car. This brought me joy. The dark sky suddenly lit up with people’s creations of Christmas cheer as we turned bends along the long, twisty wintery road. And, on the way home, we saw a red fox with bushy tail dart across the road, into a field, then out of sight.

Christmas

AND THEN Christmas arrived. I went up to London, my sister came over and we had a family Christmas, all our kids together and us, playing games, eating food, raising voices and glasses. It was a good time. On the way home, it rained. A lot. The red-bricked London houses looked as if they were built from rectangles of deep red velvet.

Traffic out of London not too bad, and then, the motorway long, straight and full of post-boxing day traffic, but not too much.

Soon home, rain still pouring, quickly inside and cosy, as morning became afternoon and evening.

And now, the last of the day of the year unfurls itself, as I settle into the silence of the day, before going out to buy some food, on a city street, under a patchy sky, unsure whether it wants to rain or not. And I don’t mind either way because, tonight I share food and warm simple times with friends. And, then it will be next year, and not long until spring, and possibilities of warm blue seas in the summer, backgammon and chips and perhaps; more friendship.

Wishing you the warmest.

P.S. I’m thinking of turning my warm words into a little book to sooth tired minds, what do you think? Perhaps you’ll tell me in the comments.