The heat of a late summer moves over the southern land in relentless waves of heat, and I insist in seeing unobvious signs of a much too early fall. September days have arrived in vaporous mellow skirts and it sits over my days like a shy damsel from an aristocratic family waiting to be introduced to the world at the coming of age.
We waited for the promised downpour the other evening. A storm was brewing on the western sky and a most captivating of a limelight streamed through the window, enticing me outside. I followed the voices and took a few pictures of our little white cottage under this light, feeling this sensation of stumbling into a fairy tale book of dreams and whimsy.
I waited leaning against dreams as the world was gently being swallowed up in this light and the first shadows descended upon earth... waited for the sound of rain to lull me to sleep later on, but rain never came. We need the absolute blessing of a rainfall. Trees and shrubs and roses resembles the mourning women of yesterdays...
I keep bringing in more roses and making more bouquets, and I cannot truly say if my heart favors the fresh roses above the dried ones, for I have a special fondness for those dear rosesouls that know how to keep their true colors intact beyond death.
It's been say that when you’re feeling your worst, that’s when you get to know yourself the best. I am a total hermit and a mute soul. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
As summer wanes and fall moves in, I find myself adding more fairy lights to our rooms... in the early mornings all the little lights are turned on to welcome the new day in shimmering soft light. I'm keeping this lamp turned on again. I don't usually would do this during our bright summer days when the pungent sun bathes the earth in light and warmth before we're up, but as shadows linger I look forward to the romantic softness bestowed by tiny lights.
I remember when I was around 13 or 14 years of age sitting alone on the tiny balcony in my parent's 5th floor apartment after dusk, my eyes and heart fixated on a lamp-illuminated window on the building right across ours. How I loved it then that yellowish, soft magical light reflecting on the window. The warmth and coziness of the otherwise dark interiors talked to me in profound, magical ways I could not even pretended to understand then, as I imagined my own little home illuminated by the romantic soft light of lamps, and a husband I wasn't even able to put a face on in my young mind. But the thought made me felt good allover and the feelings have remained with me ever since.