As heaving dark grey clouds yawn open, light hits yellow lichen on a wooden rail, causing colour to ripple in intense succession before giving way to hope and renewal.
Ritual, habit, practical and deliberate actions, create a soothing sense that things can be different.
The Dark Months; a series of moods in words, expressing fleeting feelings and thoughts …
Despite discouragement, we can sometimes see things for the better, and in that, we are the magic. This is the twelfth in the series ‘The Dark Months’.
The seventh in the series of ‘The Dark Months’ is an exercise in observation written on one of those foggy, cold mornings where everything is still.
Autumn leaves, above and below, cast a spell which brings to a mind a golden carpet, a cocoon against the gloom.
The nights draw in. Temperatures drop. Summer is increasingly a memory. I’m determined to extend the season by enoying as much light and space as I can, when I can.
Light is so important, especially in winter as nights draw in, skies go grey and all life seems in suspension. This unsettling look at light, seeping, is quite captivating.