“You can make anything by writing.” ― C.S. Lewis

Posts for Autumn Category

Morning Routine.

I’ve been waking every morning at about 6:15 AM. Not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose. My brain is ticking like clockwork apparently, and every day, I open my eyes from a good sleep. It’s dark in my bedroom, and even a quick glance to the navy curtains tells me it’s dark outside too. It used to trick me – I saw it dark outside, only street lamps in the distance, and I assumed it was middle of the night. I’d get up and pee, and come back and check my phone, and – 6:15. Or 6:13, 6:12. But seriously, rarely further apart. 

So, know I now, when I roll over and see the dark curtains – it’s 6:15. I still get up and pee, and if I’m lucky, I’m able to crawl back in bed for another 45 minutes until my 7 AM alarm goes off. 

Some mornings, Ari’s asleep in bed with me, her legs thrown possessively over mine, never far from me, always touching. I crawl out of bed and do my best not to disturb her. More and more lately, she’s spent the whole night in her bed, but hearing my door crack open, she jumps out of bed. No matter the location, she’s always ready to start the day.

I had thought mornings with school would be hard – and they’re not easy. I’m not a morning person — I’m not really a Being Awake person, if we’re being honest. But we’ve developed a good little routine that feels doable and our speed, and I’ve grown to enjoy it. 

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Autumn, Kentucky, Seasons, Thoughts - Emily - October 30, 2015

I keep meaning to write about fall, and I haven’t quite been able to bring myself to do it.

I keep meeting this sort of reluctance — because I reluctantly like fall, autumn, whichever you prefer. I don’t want to, because I don’t like what follows.

And yet autumn has this grace about it. It, like spring, my other favourite season, is a transitory season, a turbulent and unpredictable one.

I let myself into the house yesterday, through the side door into the kitchen, and the breeze was warm on my cheeks, my hands, despite the cool air. It felt like spring, this hushed fullness in the air. Nature changing, constantly. Every day, a new development — in spring, a new little birth every day, a new bud opening, new leaves, new grass. In fall, a new death, everyday. The dogwoods the slightest bitter redder than the day before, hedging towards brown, towards crisp and crunch and falling to the ground.

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