The last few weeks have been a melange of events, encounters, experiences, and realisations. The context is unignorable. From the ever-more distant and solipsistic political elites to the genocide in Gaza and the tantrums of the giant man-baby in Washington, the global circus and its devastating effects on citizens’ lives are affecting everyone. An atmosphere of unease—an Unruhe—leaves us unmoored and uncertain about the future. The pitiful, cynical handouts from the UK government are paltry sums, merely designed to keep the third sector and local government busy while achieving no real change. They are simply buffers against Farage and his grotesque menagerie of petty bourgeois opportunists, hell-bent on sinking the country and running off with the spoils.
I’ve stepped away from the mainstream media and wound down my social media engagement over the past few weeks. The air is easier to breathe as a result, and I’ve found more time for solitude, reflection, and focus on the things that matter most. I’m also detoxing. I’ve finally found an approach to eating well that works, and I’m starting to feel more at one with my body than I have in a very long time. Autumn feels like a good time for this change.
In the garden, the season change is speeding up. I’ve been eaten alive by mosquitoes and been bumping into spiders every time I go out. It’s time to shelter the more fragile plants, lift the dahlias, and get everything ready for a long winter sleep. Demeter’s breath is settling in the morning dew as Persephone begins her painful walk back to Hades. Knowing she will return in the spring is small comfort as each day fades faster than the one before and evenings turn cooler.
Overnight rain has added damp to the cooler air today, and the smell of petrichor is pulling me away from my desk. There is so much to do out there. I spent my weekend potting on my roses and harvesting the last of the tomatoes. I have a basket of green ones in the greenhouse; they need a bit more sunshine if they are to ripen now, but today is sunless, though still warm. Perhaps the air will clear this afternoon and the sun will show himself.
The hardness of the street and the neighbourhood is creeping in. A mournful, lonely dog is howling. Thumping music from cars, the neighbour’s dull music, raised voices, and the usual underscore of menace interrupt the birdsong. Yesterday, a gathering of birds—a robin, great tit, chaffinch, house sparrow, blue tit, dunnock, spotted flycatcher, white wagtail, and long-tailed tit—were in conference in the elder tree next door, enjoying the sunshine as I was. I have two bird baths, but no feeders because of the sheer number of rats; it’s a big risk I can’t take with a baby next door.
That baby is almost one and is absolutely adorable. She waves to us at night from her bedroom window and delights us with her vocal gymnastics. I feel so lucky to have the neighbours we have. Our corner is a good corner with people we know and care about. It makes all the difference. Wherever you live, wherever you find yourself, it’s never the location, never the house, always the people. If you have people, you’re OK and you can crack on with the job of living.
Josie Moon 