Floating down through the layers
The feeling of winter settling in and some seasonal practices to go with it
On Friday I went along to a local spot to have a mulled wine with my dad, stepmum and one of my daughters. It was the winter solstice and the beginning of a full moon, and we were invited to write something down that we were ready to release and place it in the fire. This week, month, season is offering a beautiful opportunity to pause and take some time out to consider what’s both behind and ahead, but more importantly, what’s here now, in this moment.
I’ve been feeling busy but quiet this week as I made a concerted effort to drop down into all that this dark and transitional season offers. Last fortnight I brushed the dust off my sewing machine and it opened up some sort of wild pandora’s box of making frenzy within me. Not at all in alignment with my wintry intentions, let me tell you. Within a week I had finished a multitude of projects from toys to clothing, sewing to knitting to crochet, and also utterly exhausted myself burning the craft candle at all hours of morning and night. This week has felt more measured, as I’ve called on some utilitarian basics from the toolbox: enforced bedtime, minimising input and screens, lavender tea on the daily and also (drum roll) dropping from two coffees a day to one. That last one surprisingly came more easily that I anticipated, and a week later, I feel much calmer and more subdued. A relief.
So, in the spirit of honouring the calm and the quiet, of taking the time to pay attention to the winter solstice and consider what it means to be, be, in the depths of winter, here’s a peek into what I’ve been reading, consuming, doing, thinking this fortnight:
Thanks to my dear friend EP sending me this book from across the Nullarbor for my birthday, I have been reading about self-taught botanical illustrator Ebenezer Edward Gostelow (try saying that one ten times). I’ve so enjoyed taking the time to learn about and imagine his life in the late 1800s and early 1900s, perusing his paintings and doing some further reading online via the National Library. Such beautiful, nostalgic paintings - there’s something about his fine lines and muted colours that has me seeing love hearts.
In the evenings I’ve been taking myself to bed early with a hot water bottle, an Ann Cleeves audiobook (first Red Bones, now Blue Lightning), a strong lavender tea and a new and meditative knitting project. Alas, last night I realised I had made a mistake some rows ago and attempted to frog back to that point, unsuccessfully. Shortly, I will pull the whole thing and begin again. A practice of patience.
Something for the TBR pile that I haven’t got my hot little hands on yet is Islands of Abandonment by Cal Flynn. I listened to this interview during the week and am totally intrigued.
And what about some essential winter listening for cold days in front of the fire?
Lastly, here’s an audio bite from Birrarung to you from a couple of weeks ago, flowing her wintry flow: sediment, clay, particulate, matter… floating down through the layers as we go about our days.
And that’s all there is for now.
Travel light x