Autumn has been drifting in on the wind for weeks now. The last of the strawberries are being picked from the garden.
The sweet peas are blooming on their driftwood teepee. Every year I plant them in memory of my Granny. Long after my name had slipped from her mind (but not her heart), she could tell me these were her favourite flowers.
The first two butterflies have hatched . . .
and flown away.
I find myself lingering in the garden, watching the way the light plays on the dew drops, willing myself to pull more magic out of my days. And I feel my heart wondering, always wondering . . . what shall I do now; now that a space has been created.
