I’m struggling to string words together lately. I’m still not sleeping well, due to a combination of the hot weather and my menopausal over-heatedness. Most nights I wake four or five times and get up at least twice to pee. It’s not conducive to sharp thinking.
Between prolonged rests I’m harvesting blackberries and raspberries to freeze for winter treats, gathering seed for next year’s flower garden and thinking about buying bulbs for autumn planting. I’m not achieving very much on a creative level, though I have a lot of ideas and jot them down on random bits of paper. Maybe some of them will come to fruition.
I’m trying to enjoy the changing of the season from summer to autumn with as many senses as possible. The visual pleasure of mellower light and rich sunsets, the scent of dewy mornings, and the taste of freshly gathered fruit. As I write, cool air from the open back door feels good on my bare arms and feet.
This has always been a favourite time of year, but as I age perhaps it has an even deeper resonance within my psyche that I can’t quite put into words. Being tired slows me down and gives me time to pay closer attention to things which normally pass by unheeded. Another kind of harvesting perhaps?