Outside it smells like bonfires.
It is cold enough for me to see my breath in the air. It is cold enough to feel the winter, waiting.
It feels like the fire is needed for the first time.
Sure, we lit fires in July, but they were smaller, more sentimental creatures. Little ways to hold on, to keep the party flowing. The fire had no meaning other than congregation.We lit them because we could, not because we needed too.
Tonight the fire felt like a practice run for the hundreds of nights that are to come.
For the winter.
And what of me? From here, I start to become wistful, to watch the evenings for the first signs of trouble. Soon will come the final bookmarks of the year, Pumpkins, Fireworks, Fairylights, Gifts.
I will start to nest, to put on weight, to worry about new coats, new boots, new ways of working. I will watch the Geese as they leave and wish to join them, the Swifts and Swallows left already, to avoid the rush.
I will write. I will tune down to Open C and seek blindly for inspiration.
One evening, not too far from here, I will feel the dread, the sudden realisation that Winter is here, and I will panic in the afternoon darkness. I will become morose and wish that I had done more, had gone swimming, had spent more time outside.
It happens every year.
There is no change in the Winter, the clocks will still work as they have always done, and Spring will roll around when it desires. In the meantime, I will seek the rutting Deer and the crashing tide, the final flourish of the falling leaf.
My favourite months, the inbetween seasons.
Very little will change, but I will feel, so desperately like it needs too. Outside it smells like bonfires and it has made me feel like I need to prepare, that there is something on the horizon.
Next year I will do the same. I will feel the same way.
This will be my Thirty-Third winter, and I’m learning how to cope.
Summer closes, the shadows get longer and we slide delicately into my favourite time of year.
It’s been a quiet year so far, but an important year. For a time there,I thought I was going to walk away from music, get a real job, settle.
I sort of tried it, but I got restless, I got down and I got annoyed instead.
And then I went to Sweden.
Four days at a tiny, beautiful festival in the middle of nowhere reawakened something within me – the need to travel – the need to experience – the need to feel something. It was, dare I say it, a “soulful” experience.
There was a moment, each evening, where the sun started to drop and the air pressure changed – a moment where the sound somehow carried up and through the pines, stretching somewhere towards forever. It was a beautiful experience and one I am so desperate to hear again.
I have needed to regain control, to feel like this was mine again, for it to become personal and less like work. I think I’m starting to find my way around that. I’m starting to inch back into the process of writing, of experiencing, of enjoying. Let us see what the year can bring.
Welcome to the new site, all built by yours truly, I’m rather proud.
Announcements to come next week, meanwhile, I’ll be testing this out for bugs, patiently writing and spending the last few summer evenings watching the sea roll in, preparing for the oncoming of sweater weather.
Safe to say, Tumblr became a nightmare to use. Too much social interaction, not enough “it actually worked as a website”.
So hello new wordpress site, let’s see how this works out. There’s bound to be a handful of teething problems along the way, but if you notice any give me a yell.