The shortening days are making me appreciate how precious light is and I take time to notice how magical the daylight is at this time of year. Here at the beginning of December the sun only rises to around 16 degrees above the horizon and so even at midday there's a low light shining through the windows (I am doing my best to ignore that this highlights the dust on all the surfaces).
Early in the day the dawn highlights droplets captured on spider webs, condensed from the early morning mists. And on clear afternoons from 2-3pm there's a wonderful honey gold light which glorifies the last of the autumn leaves still clinging to the trees and makes even the tv aerials shine as though burnished with precious metals.
This golden afternoon light glows through the hedge outside my window here at home and traces lacey patterns on the curtain. Out in the woods it is cut into thick lambent wedges by the tree trunks and illuminates the ferns and fallen leaf carpet to flaming tones, and the setting sun blushes great ships of cloud sailing across the autumn sky.
The colours that I see out in the woods prompt me to rummage out from my yarn stash all the colours of peaty earth, golden toadstools and sunlit leaves and I'm enjoying playing around with these colours in some gentle paced making.
I feel so thankful to live somewhere that has seasonal changes and contrasts and deeply appreciate how they give a rhythm to my year. At the moment that rhythm is encouraging me to slow down a little and conserve energy, a muted form of hibernation if you will and I'm planning on having a quiet winter, a much needed pause before the springtime planning that we need to do for Toby's future. Today I'm curled up here by the fire, knitting and feeling grateful to be warm and safe, I hope there's something making you feel grateful this week, J x
