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The First of Autumn
Summer seemed to go on and on this year, hot and sunny right through September. Then I left the country on a Thursday, and when I came back on the Sunday I needed a jumper. The seasons changed all at once; now the trees are turning, now the winds are blowing, and it's rained more in the last fortnight than in the whole four months preceding.
I always feel surprised by spring and autumn. In spring it's the colours - surely leaves were never that green before, I think, as I look on leaves just as green as they are every year. In autumn it's the light - the change from endless blue and bright to something more contained, a dappling mix of gold and grey, bookended by encroaching night. It reminds me, all of a sudden, that time has been passing while I wasn't looking.
I haven't stopped moving for the last three weeks: a weekend out of the country, a weekend in a field, a weekend at my parents'. That exacerbates the feeling of the year running away - I've been all out of routine, and September's slipped into October without me noticing. This weekend, I'm regrouping, reminding myself of all the anchors that keep me grounded. I'm okay.
Drawing
I'm two weeks into a twelve-week drawing class, which is so far exactly what I wanted it to be: an amusement for a Monday night and a chance to focus on something different for a change. I don't particularly mind whether I come out of this with mad drawing skillz, or with just twelve weeks' of fun experience, and that's part of what makes it great. The class comes with a single nod to the concept of "homework", which is "get a sketchbook and draw in it sometimes", and that's a nice addition to my little bag of books that I carry around the city with me for a slack moment.
Writing
Three weekends out of town in a row has had the predictable effect on my writing habits. I have two days of my Couch-to-80K relisten still waiting. I've been writing lists and doing weird metaphor exercises to keep my hand in (and I love that I can just do that and give myself a metaphorical gold star for it). I've written this post! This afternoon, I'm hoping to pick up a little of my fiction project, but if I just write more lists, that still counts.
Reading
I've been back through a couple of favourite Discworlds (because my partner has made 2022 the year he reads them all, and keeps reminding me of the good bits). I'm still following Dracula Daily, which is a fun way to read a classic I would never have got through on my own (as evidenced by the fact it's been unread in my eBook library ever since I bought my Kindle, most of a decade ago).
Film
I continue to fritter away my spare time and cash watching an eclectic mix of films at the cult cinema (recently: Belle (2021) and The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)), but in recent weeks I've also caught two new releases: Three Thousand Years of Longing and See How They Run. Both a lot of fun, neither likely to stick long in the memory.
I always feel surprised by spring and autumn. In spring it's the colours - surely leaves were never that green before, I think, as I look on leaves just as green as they are every year. In autumn it's the light - the change from endless blue and bright to something more contained, a dappling mix of gold and grey, bookended by encroaching night. It reminds me, all of a sudden, that time has been passing while I wasn't looking.
I haven't stopped moving for the last three weeks: a weekend out of the country, a weekend in a field, a weekend at my parents'. That exacerbates the feeling of the year running away - I've been all out of routine, and September's slipped into October without me noticing. This weekend, I'm regrouping, reminding myself of all the anchors that keep me grounded. I'm okay.
Drawing
I'm two weeks into a twelve-week drawing class, which is so far exactly what I wanted it to be: an amusement for a Monday night and a chance to focus on something different for a change. I don't particularly mind whether I come out of this with mad drawing skillz, or with just twelve weeks' of fun experience, and that's part of what makes it great. The class comes with a single nod to the concept of "homework", which is "get a sketchbook and draw in it sometimes", and that's a nice addition to my little bag of books that I carry around the city with me for a slack moment.
Writing
Three weekends out of town in a row has had the predictable effect on my writing habits. I have two days of my Couch-to-80K relisten still waiting. I've been writing lists and doing weird metaphor exercises to keep my hand in (and I love that I can just do that and give myself a metaphorical gold star for it). I've written this post! This afternoon, I'm hoping to pick up a little of my fiction project, but if I just write more lists, that still counts.
Reading
I've been back through a couple of favourite Discworlds (because my partner has made 2022 the year he reads them all, and keeps reminding me of the good bits). I'm still following Dracula Daily, which is a fun way to read a classic I would never have got through on my own (as evidenced by the fact it's been unread in my eBook library ever since I bought my Kindle, most of a decade ago).
Film
I continue to fritter away my spare time and cash watching an eclectic mix of films at the cult cinema (recently: Belle (2021) and The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)), but in recent weeks I've also caught two new releases: Three Thousand Years of Longing and See How They Run. Both a lot of fun, neither likely to stick long in the memory.