Autumn

Autumn is both a relief and a kind of heartbreak.

It’s fresh and crisp and full of cosy comforts. I love the smell of apples, berries, spices and sugar that wraps itself sweetly round every room in the house, promising deliciousness. I love the glossy, metallic sunlight that shimmers through dying leaves. I love the bloom of condensation on windows in the morning. I love wrapping up warm, snug as a bug in a rug.

But it’s painful to say goodbye to summer and long, lazy days. It’s disconcerting that night starts earlier and earlier, then leaves later. It’s a shock to the system and a wake up call.

Heart made with shadows on an evening walk in the sunshine. Autumn walk in the sunshine, Badbury Rings, Dorset.

Autumn is the perfect time to reflect, take stock, make plans and – crucially, but too often the part I skip – set those plans in motion. That’s my goal for the coming days and weeks.

It’s also the perfect time to curl up with a good book.

And I’ll certainly be doing that too.

A Life Lesson From a Little Girl

There’s something calming about going for a walk – heading off down lanes and paths and tracks, just letting your feet lead the way. It always makes my head clearer and my heart lighter.

A few weeks ago, after Sunday lunch, my mum and I headed out for a walk along the banks of our local river. It’s a good place to natter/confide/joke/argue/not say anything at all, and I’ve walked the paths there so many times for so long I’m sure they’ve actually moulded the shape of my feet.

It wasn’t very busy – the clouds were very grey and the ground was still sticky from weeks of rain – but there were a few other families out for a Sunday afternoon stroll.

At one point we passed a little family. The parents were timidly picking out a route as far from the mud as possible (which wasn’t that possible) while their little girl was striding ahead through the puddles and marshy ground.

The mum said she thought they should go back, and the dad didn’t look too keen to go any further either. But the little girl wanted to carry on and refused to budge.

The mum said it was too muddy, the little girl said she wanted to get muddier.

*high-five for little girl*

Me and my mum carried on our way. When we snuck a glance over our shoulders further along the path the little family were nowhere to be seen.

Obviously there was no more getting muddier for the girl.

But it got me thinking – isn’t it funny how children can be braver than grown ups? They look at a muddy field and want to keep walking, keep striding forwards, keep getting muddier.

Because who cares about a bit of mud?

I want to be more like that little girl in my everyday life. I want to be more adventurous and less worried/nervous/afraid. Even if it’s just in small ways that seem insignificant. Small things add up.

If I fail, at least I tried. If I fall flat on my face, I can get back up. If I make a mistake, I can learn. If people point at me and laugh at me, I can get over it and move on even though it might (will) hurt.

So thank you, little girl. You’ve inspired this bigger girl.

It’s time to get muddier.