+ I can feel my heart aching in the way that I knew it would. I've been waiting for this little soft sorrow to sneak up on me when things slowed down slightly before our move--where I'd be forced to process things and would quickly discover our time was up and the place was no longer ours. That time has come and I've been trying my hardest to prepare. I've been telling myself that this is a moment I'm just going to need to choose a hard choice for a good reason and be strong and forceful and drag my body through it. I remind myself that I may have to make decisions like this for the good of others, likely my own children some day. That I will need to demonstrate hard decisions and strength. Now is an opportunity for practice. And perhaps a couple more minutes under the covers, at the kitchen table, and out in the yard. Oh Moulter St. You were never ours, but what you gave us we will have forever.
"Now that the last leaves are down, except for the thick dark leaves of the oak and ghostly beech leaves that click in the breeze, we're reduced to a subtler show of colour - brown, grey and buff, perhaps a little purple in the distance [...] To my eye these hues are much more beautiful than the garish early autumn with its orange leaves - orange, the colour of madness - and leaves the colour of blood. Let hot life retire, grow still: November's colours of those of the soul."