Autumn wind, summer sun. The endless blue of summer has floated further south and the storks will soon follow. I will miss their still, graceful silhouettes, watching over the village from their chimney-top nests. I will miss heat-cracked earth under my bare feet, warm sun on my skin, bowls and plates full of sweet delicious fruit and refreshing veggies. Eating blueberries with my fingers, dangling my legs in the cool water. Wild flowers brought to me by my parents from their wanderings. A bee exploring the back of my hand, her quick little legs tickling me so, I have to shake her off.
Shadows growing longer. The sun is now again an old man, no longer strong enough to climb all the way up the horizon, so he only rolls over the hills and retires to his bedroom earlier by the day.
Gifts all around us. In the far corner of our meadow brambles tumble and ramble vigorously, offering us sweet fruits, fit not for humans but for some wild, moss-covered goddesses.
Our garden too is full of colours. It’s a happy garden. And no wonder! The garden itself, my mum and dad all work together to create a living, breathing, ever-changing piece of art – something really beautiful and honest and good.
Sitting outside in the evenings, I pull on my dear old socks and my mum’s cardigan. Cups of tea and little home-baked biscuits with walnuts, raisins and carrots. They melt in my mouth and leave behind the sweet sad taste of autumn.
May the weeks ahead bring you many gifts. It feels good to live more on gifts than on acquisitions.