It’s that time of year again, my favourite time when the smell of autumn lingers in the air and everything feels new and possible. Every year I have such high hopes for autumn. I promise myself that I shall be out revelling in it as much as possible. I imagine the long walks in my favourite knitwear, my ochre scarf wrapped around my neck as I kick up leaves in my walking boots. But for me, autumn always comes with a side serving of trepidation and fear. Because autumn is as much about food as it is about being outdoors. It’s the season of harvest and abundance, tempting me with big roast dinners, warming stews and wholesome soups. I love to plan walks where I know there's a cafe so I can sit and enjoy my cake and coffee as the light fades around me. For me, autumn gives with one hand and cruelly takes with another.
Read MoreFor me, January is the slowest month. It has an honesty and effortlessness to it after the frivolities and chaos of December. Each day is fleeting, holding within it the briefest of moments, which fall untarnished and remain unmarked as the sun fades and time disappears into nothingness. Despite the shorter days, I feel as though I have all the time in the world. There is nothing pressing to do and very little to occupy my mind. It's too early for my seedlings to appear or to start the ritual of spring cleaning the house and it's too late to worry about the things that I didn't achieve last year. The mistakes I had previously made and the worries that I had carried with me were put to bed as I turned over the page of my new calendar.
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