I am not writing to you this time in an existential panic. I am not going to complain to you today that the world is ending. I am not going to urge you to eat some metaphorical cake with me and stare at pretty interiors while democracy crumbles around us. This week I’ve decided that it’s always going to be pretty grim out there, so if I just accept that I can go ahead and get on with my life. Believe it or not, I find this comforting.
I’ve been obsessed recently with old, falling apart, vintage farmhouse minimalism that This Old Hudson does so well. I’m sure someone out there knows a catchier term for this look as I doubt any book would sell with that title.
It’s still full on summer, but the kids go back to school here next week so I’m looking for fall and only just seeing it in the earlier sunsets. I know it’s lurking by the way the leaves move in the afternoon light and in the strength of the cicadas singing at dusk.
“Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don’t they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine