I hope you soon receive the rains that you are hoping for. Here we have had an excess this ‘summer’ for what is usually the drier eastern side of the country. However I can see the benefits to plants and nature here. Wishing you that mountain stream bliss soon.
Being on the other side of the world, we're looking at spring. Officially I'd say it starts on the 21st September. But the feeling of spring has been here for a couple weeks now. For me it starts when the birds get more active, they start singing their songs and building their nests. And most of all, my favourite of birds, the kingfishers return 😁
How wonderful; it’s a while since I’ve seen a kingfisher. Yes, the birds always know… I do like the fact that even in January here there is an increase in birdsong as soon as the days begin to lengthen. Meanwhile I shall console myself with the gift of a few warmer days this week.
There's a family of kingfishers who have decided this is a great place to have their nest, last year we even had babies, it was so cute 🥰. Autumn has many beautiful days and things to appreciate too, enjoy 🍂🍁
Once again, Letters from the Moss gently guides me away from the chaos of modern life and gives me a moment to catch my breath. Thank you for the invitation to pause in this space between seasons. Autumn is my favorite time of year. Even though the human world refuses to slow down, I revel in knowing the natural world is preparing for a much-needed sleep.
Melancholy! That's the word I've been looking for these past few days. Every September, I enter this mood of placid sadness, and every year, I wonder if the reason is environmental or seasonal, or simply the remnants of past Septembers when life felt oppressive and disenchanted.
I deeply enjoyed your thoughts and observations—so refreshing for someone who lives in a big, chaotic concrete jungle.
Thank you so much. I quietly hope that these letters will find their way into cities and towns and reach those who may be apart from looser versions of nature.
And your thoughts echo mine as I crunched my way to the water's edge today, through golden leaves carpeting the grass, to take swim.
Linden trees line the street I live on, and birch trees hug the little island I swim at. Walking over the bridge I was greeted by a swan family, the cygnets as big as their parents but still brown.
the seasons are not marked by a date here in Finland. It's the average temperature that governs the change, an interesting and perhaps even more nature-aligned way of demarcating seasonal change.
Winter is long and dark here, and I am aware of the anxiety building inside me as I think of navigating the ice. Snow I can cope with but the melt-freeze cycle producing black ice is anxiety-inducing for me.
I think I'l move to my sunny balcony and breathe in the late summer instead...
Thank you. I love the thought of birch trees hugging your island. However much we try to shoehorn nature into fixed seasons, she will ultimately do as she pleases.
This is such a great post, you've tapped into something really momentous as we move towards winter and lots of small changes that build into awareness. The simple act of putting the heating on at the studio was a strange sensation. I felt the warmth and almost instantly I was hit by the thought of 'oh good, this is it then' and thoughts of less light and a slow drudgery filled my mind.
Thanks Paul. We’ve been on a roller coaster this week: hot sun; bitter wind, sleet and frost; and maybe we will see the promised warmth next week. The house has some days felt colder than outside: a clear night followed by a blanket of grey, so yes, we have had the heat on some days. It’s been a strange summer, often wet and windy, and I think this contributes to my reluctance to let summer go… it feels like there is unfinished business. I know that the visual will pull me out of this dip, and I appreciate you taking the time to comment.
Beautiful. I really love autumn 🍂 but resonate with the melancholy you describe. Nature at this time of year is particularly rejuvenating I feel - which is interesting I guess as it’s all about shedding and hunkering down for the autumn 🤷♀️. Maybe I like the slowing down of it all.
Thank you Jacqui. I think there’s a period here where we know it’s autumn, but emotionally we don’t want to let summer go. Small periods encourage us to hang on to this hope - last weekend was warm and sunny, this week has been bitter - and we carry with us the baggage of remembering ‘better’ summers.
Yep it’s cold here too - I’m Yorkshire. I love it though. I did have a great summer though so I feel that is helping with the letting go of the season. I don’t feel it was lost. We were incredibly lucky with weather - even on out trip to Scotland!!
I so want to enjoy the transition into fall, but the abnormally dry and hot weather we are having is trying its best to wither my spirit.
I hope you soon receive the rains that you are hoping for. Here we have had an excess this ‘summer’ for what is usually the drier eastern side of the country. However I can see the benefits to plants and nature here. Wishing you that mountain stream bliss soon.
Thank you, Michela! I dream of Mountain Streams!
Being on the other side of the world, we're looking at spring. Officially I'd say it starts on the 21st September. But the feeling of spring has been here for a couple weeks now. For me it starts when the birds get more active, they start singing their songs and building their nests. And most of all, my favourite of birds, the kingfishers return 😁
How wonderful; it’s a while since I’ve seen a kingfisher. Yes, the birds always know… I do like the fact that even in January here there is an increase in birdsong as soon as the days begin to lengthen. Meanwhile I shall console myself with the gift of a few warmer days this week.
There's a family of kingfishers who have decided this is a great place to have their nest, last year we even had babies, it was so cute 🥰. Autumn has many beautiful days and things to appreciate too, enjoy 🍂🍁
What a joy! Yes, the colour is slowly building, and we have high pressure, so the prospect of a few warmer sunny days which I shall grab with delight.
Once again, Letters from the Moss gently guides me away from the chaos of modern life and gives me a moment to catch my breath. Thank you for the invitation to pause in this space between seasons. Autumn is my favorite time of year. Even though the human world refuses to slow down, I revel in knowing the natural world is preparing for a much-needed sleep.
Thanks Jamie, I’m really glad that you’re enjoying these letters. What a wonderful thought to be able to follow nature’s pace.
Melancholy! That's the word I've been looking for these past few days. Every September, I enter this mood of placid sadness, and every year, I wonder if the reason is environmental or seasonal, or simply the remnants of past Septembers when life felt oppressive and disenchanted.
I deeply enjoyed your thoughts and observations—so refreshing for someone who lives in a big, chaotic concrete jungle.
Thank you so much. I quietly hope that these letters will find their way into cities and towns and reach those who may be apart from looser versions of nature.
This is beautiful.
And your thoughts echo mine as I crunched my way to the water's edge today, through golden leaves carpeting the grass, to take swim.
Linden trees line the street I live on, and birch trees hug the little island I swim at. Walking over the bridge I was greeted by a swan family, the cygnets as big as their parents but still brown.
the seasons are not marked by a date here in Finland. It's the average temperature that governs the change, an interesting and perhaps even more nature-aligned way of demarcating seasonal change.
Winter is long and dark here, and I am aware of the anxiety building inside me as I think of navigating the ice. Snow I can cope with but the melt-freeze cycle producing black ice is anxiety-inducing for me.
I think I'l move to my sunny balcony and breathe in the late summer instead...
Thank you. I love the thought of birch trees hugging your island. However much we try to shoehorn nature into fixed seasons, she will ultimately do as she pleases.
This is such a great post, you've tapped into something really momentous as we move towards winter and lots of small changes that build into awareness. The simple act of putting the heating on at the studio was a strange sensation. I felt the warmth and almost instantly I was hit by the thought of 'oh good, this is it then' and thoughts of less light and a slow drudgery filled my mind.
Thanks Paul. We’ve been on a roller coaster this week: hot sun; bitter wind, sleet and frost; and maybe we will see the promised warmth next week. The house has some days felt colder than outside: a clear night followed by a blanket of grey, so yes, we have had the heat on some days. It’s been a strange summer, often wet and windy, and I think this contributes to my reluctance to let summer go… it feels like there is unfinished business. I know that the visual will pull me out of this dip, and I appreciate you taking the time to comment.
No hearing on here yet! Not before October however cold it is. Jumpers are out though 😁
That should say heating 😁🙈😆
Beautiful. I really love autumn 🍂 but resonate with the melancholy you describe. Nature at this time of year is particularly rejuvenating I feel - which is interesting I guess as it’s all about shedding and hunkering down for the autumn 🤷♀️. Maybe I like the slowing down of it all.
Thank you Jacqui. I think there’s a period here where we know it’s autumn, but emotionally we don’t want to let summer go. Small periods encourage us to hang on to this hope - last weekend was warm and sunny, this week has been bitter - and we carry with us the baggage of remembering ‘better’ summers.
Yep it’s cold here too - I’m Yorkshire. I love it though. I did have a great summer though so I feel that is helping with the letting go of the season. I don’t feel it was lost. We were incredibly lucky with weather - even on out trip to Scotland!!
This is so lovely. I'm glad Satya at Going Gently pointed me in your direction.
Thank you Paula. I’m glad she did too.
Such beautiful noticing and writing (and photography!), thank you.
Thank you Gaye, I’m happy that you’ve enjoyed this.