First glimpses of fall
A collection of the first glimpses of fall from an early September walk in the woods.
We’re at the very beginning of leaves turning their fall colors here. I’m always taken a little bit by surprise how quickly fall arrives once the leaves start to turn – cold mornings with warm afternoons, colorful landscape, crunchy leaves, sweaters, cider, etc.
But before fall officially makes itself known, there are hints and glimpses of the season changing that are easy to miss. Here’s a collection from a few weeks ago, when we were in that time between the end of summer and beginning of fall.
The first glimpses of fall from an early September walk in the woods:
🥾 First walk in boots! Keeping your feet warm and dry is A+. (Even if your feet don’t cramp when they’re cold, like mine do.)
🧥 Wondering “maybe I should have brought a jacket?” but being fine without it. The classic between seasons conundrum.
⛈️ The cool damp smell after the rain. Smells regenerative.
🍎 Hot apple spice tea. Not quite cider weather yet, but getting there.
🕷️ “Do you want this?” Halloween decor texts. Of course I want the spider tea light holders! (Halloween season is also when I got the tray I use to contain my dishes.)
🌬️ Crisp breezes replacing humid ones. And springy forest floors replacing dry ones.
🍂 First hint of a crispy leaf. A single crunch here and there, hinting at the piles of leaves to come.
📙 Cozy (very) early mornings in the dark. And trying to remember where you put your book light.
🌚 Eclipse season.
🍄 Mushroom logs.
🌿 Browning fern forests.
❤️ Red ground berries.
💧 Ending a walk with a half full water bottle instead of an empty one.
🌳 Acorns falling on your head and pinecone sap sticking to your boots.
😅 A sheen of sweat replacing buckets. (Fortunately I didn’t take that jacket.)
It’s collections of glimpses like these that remind me not to rush from one season to the next. They let me savor the moment watching the world turn.
Photo by Mihály Köles on Unsplash
Is writing about writing still writing?
The title is a little tongue in cheek perhaps, but here’s a glimpse into how I’m thinking through my own curious lack of writing.
Maybe it’s writer’s block. Maybe it’s being busy. Maybe it’s thinking I can do two things at once. Maybe it’s living through whatever they’ll call this moment of time in history books. Maybe it’s something else entirely.
If you’re a writer with this same tension, I’d love to hear your thoughts on your own writing/not-writing tensions.
Good morning, a rare open schedule day – lots to do, but no timed commitments. And I would like to use this scheduling gift to carve out some writing time.
I do think the lack of longer form writing and the idea development and testing that comes with it is indicative of a problem. I’m just not quite sure what that problem is.
Maybe it’s the state of things at large. Maybe it’s personal. Maybe it’s energy vampires.
Maybe I don’t actually need to know the problem, because I know the solution is writing.
Step 1: Fill paper with words.
Step 2: Turn words into sentences.
Step 3: Turn sentences into paragraphs.
Step 4: Repeat.
Maybe the form needs to change: a blank page instead of my running document, or handwriting instead of typing, or voice to text instead of paper.
Or maybe it’s a question of time: create the time container and cement it into the schedule.
Or maybe it’s a topic question: create a series, or a menu, or freewrite and decide if it goes any further later.
Maybe it’s a commitment question: decide a standard and relish in the freedom of not needing to decide.
Like right now, I’m writing about writing and it feels like that doesn’t count because it isn’t in a form that can be given to anyone else.
It appears some part of me thinks that writing “doesn’t count” unless it’s typed.
I think that comes from believing that the ultimate point of writing is to communicate. And the point of writing for yourself is to communicate with yourself.
But what is the point of only ever communicating with yourself? That leads to being trapped in the echo-chamber of your own self, and I think the echos would eventually be maddening.
Life and communication are interpersonal pursuits.
But coming back to the question at hand.
On a more practical, less philosophical level, I have a number of non-writing projects with very easy on-ramps and very clear next steps, which makes them easy to pick up and move forward. At the moment, I don’t have any writing projects with those qualities.
Writing about whatever grabs your attention may have worked in the past. But it is not working at the moment.
Maybe the project just needs to be: write the next idea on the list unless something better comes up.
Again, if you’re a writer with this same tension or unmoored feeling, I’d love to hear your thoughts on your own writing/not-writing tension.
PS. since writing this out, the spell seems to have broken. I’ve written a few more essays and a few more emails with delight and ease.
So maybe the next time this happens, I just need to write it out.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
“What’s one thing that makes you feel rich that doesn’t cost any money?”
A podcast I used to listen to would always ask “what’s one thing that makes you feel rich that doesn’t cost any money?”
Often the person being interviewed would answer “spending time with friends or family.” “Alone time.” “Going for a walk.” Etc. (This is not an essay about how expensive time is, but maybe one day.)
I always wondered how I would answer that question.
Ultimately I came to the conclusion that my answer would probably be “using what I already have.” I feel so taken care of by my past self when I have exactly what I need on hand. I feel so creative and resourceful when I find the perfect unexpected solution to a problem using what I already have. And while everything at my fingertips costs something somewhere along the value chain (just like time does) they don’t cost money in the moment.
But as I look ahead to the rest of my evening and remembering my morning I might have a new contender for my answer: sitting with coffee or tea and a book. Bookending the day with quiet reading.
This evening, I’m picking up where I left off this morning. The hero has just finished gossiping with the cook in the kitchen and is being escorted upstairs to meet the head of the household who she is convinced is hiding a vampire in the attic.
It is all ridiculous! And I am so excited to find out what happens. (Plus it’s a library book, so I’ll either finish this evening or keep wondering.)
I have decreed my to-do list done for the day. I have an hour or so before I really need to go to bed, a mug of tea is by my side, and for at least a moment, I get to flip pages instead of scroll and follow a story instead of a sound bite.
And that is a special kind of luxury.
Photo by 2Photo Pots on Unsplash
