I really didn’t mean to take a break from writing and sharing here. I never mean to. Similar to the feeling of when it’s been a while since you’ve spoken to a friend and as the distance grows the idea of picking up the phone becomes altogether too daunting. It’s true what they say about momentum. Where do you begin when it’s been so long?
Since I wrote to you last September has come and gone. Some bits and pieces from the past month:
Exploring the small key islands of Puerto Rico by dinghy boat at sunset under the full moon
Dealing with the aftermath of a hostile work exchange in the rainforest of Puerto Rico (a story for another time)
A sadness that showed up unannounced and then overstayed its welcome
Spending time in my partner’s hometown
Experiencing my first real pumpkin patch and apple orchard, hallmarks of a proper fall
Celebrating my twenty sixth birthday with my love, her surprising me with my childhood favorite birthday cake recipe :’)
Starting an exciting new work project
Traveling by train through upstate New York watching the autumn hues grow richer the further north we traveled
Watching old classic movies that I somehow never got around to watching; Sweet Home Alabama, Dirty Dancing
Bonfires, s’mores, the smell of fire lingering on our clothes and hair
September, my birth month, marks a time of transition. We had the fall equinox, one of two days in the year where the dark and light are of equal lengths. This time of year always brings me to do some reflection. It feels like the beginning of the end of something. There's nostalgia that hangs in the air like a crescent moon. The air still holds on to some of the warmth of summer, and then slowly begins to fade to cooler nights. In parts of the country and world we’re lucky enough to experience the leaves changing brilliant shades of brown and orange and red and falling all around us.
After a summer of lots of travel and adventure and unknowns and flying by the seat of my pants, I’m craving the stability of a slower season. A season of rising and falling around the same time every day, of walking the same paths, seeing familiar faces at the farmers market and coffee shops, cooking recipes, and all the other joys of being rooted somewhere for a while.
I’m currently writing from an old farmhouse in upstate New York where my partner and I will be living for the next two months. We’re house and cat sitting for a midwife and herbalist who has made every inch of this home and the land it’s on a quaint little sanctuary. There is a bedroom with bay windows that gets the most gorgeous morning light. Soon after arriving here, I excitedly set up a workspace, some thing that has felt absent from the past few months of nomadic living. It’s wild how much creating a space to work makes a difference. I’ve learned so much through this experience of living on the road, which is maybe a letter for another time.
So much of the things that we think make a house a home we don’t truly need — but the things that matter, really matter. I’m grateful, as always for the reminder, that home is wherever my two feet are planted. It doesn’t take much to make me happy. A space to write, preferably next to a window, with a candle or incense lit, and natural light. A warm place to rest my head, clean clothes to wear, food to eat, a kettle to make tea, a love that burns bright as the stars in the sky. A simple, slow life.
The way in which this opportunity to stay in this house in the woods fell into our laps is more serendipitous than I can even begin to explain. It’s one of those happenings that feels fated, almost too good to be true. I’ve been learning how to trust the good when it comes.
What are you looking forward to this fall? What has the change in seasons been inspiring in or teaching you?
Thank you for reading and being here. I missed you!
Take Care,
Asha Nia