Are you ready for Autumn?
"must be the angle of the light"
As the weather shifts, I wonder whether anyone else has been thinking about that Emily Dickinson poem — “There’s a certain slant of light”. We’d read it last winter in our ‘reading round’. If we had a WhatsApp group, this week I would have been tempted to ask in the chat!
Sunlight always comes to mind when I see or eat Scottish raspberries. In the 2019 film Chefs’ Diaries, the Roca Brothers tour Scotland, playing with our food heritage and cuisine. And yes, they seek to ‘elevate’ it — this, the most dastardly of food words — but also to spur fresh appreciation for Scottish cuisine. It certainly renewed my pride. When sampling and quite frankly marvelling at the flavour of our raspberries, one of the brothers says, ‘Must be the angle of the light’, forever changing my experience of eating local raspberries.
‘Are you ready for autumn?’, I’m asked. On a dating app of all places! It is no coincidence that the app is Feeld; I’m becoming more aware that the good conversations on Feeld have a similar vibe to the content I follow and enjoy most on Substack. On both platforms, my favourite people seem to be a bunch of fiercely political dreamers; those who know that without hope we are lost1, and without genuine connections, we are alone. Like the season and the light, some things are changing — notwithstanding the frustration that, globally, nothing seems to improve; things are only getting worse. It’s a disappointing time to be a member of the human species. Whilst navigating both lust and romance on apps, lest us not forget those that are still learning. I also ask for forgiveness for my trespasses, or blunders.
As a greengrocer, the change of the seasons is marked, romantic and visceral! With a surprising chill and fresh bite in the air, this week feels like a bridge between the last of those enchanting Scottish berries and the best of the autumn fruit and veg; the grocer’s cart colour wheel spinning from cheerful reds, subtle pinks, and hazy blues to solemn oranges and the earthy deep greens of mixed squash. Punnets of strawberries and peaches transform into a patchwork of gloriously frosted plums in a spectrum of blushes, the rosy tinges of heritage apples, and the sharp, brattish confidence of a Romanesco cauliflower.
Also, since you’re a creative and work in design — especially food — I wonder how much of an effect the turn of seasons has on your creative work, professional or otherwise?
Blimey, what a question!
I don’t want to call it ‘coorie’ or attribute it to ‘hygge’, but I enjoy the shortening of the day in the way I enjoy the lengthening of a summer night. Autumn has always felt like an invitation to comfort, to nestle and ease into darkness. I’m sad to pause afternoons of reading (and writing) in the park until spring, but I’m ready to add a whole load of new tunes to my playlists, a soundtrack to feelings I don’t have yet. My backpack won’t need emergency park/beach beer, but instead I can add in a little mulled cider, wine, or spiced hot chocolate to my evening routines as the days shorten, (my alcohol consumption is virtually nothing these days anyway), cook more comfort food, roast more veg.
Despite this, the angle of the light is telling me change is afoot, and I know why. I’ve been bracing myself for change, wondering who I’d become if I had to surrender most of my creative hours — like the ones I spend writing this newsletter.
This year’s weekly Substack was my attempt at reclaiming lost time from last year — time frittered away chasing a career whilst propping up a failing business, or prioritising a romantic relationship over my creative needs. In short: servicing men who did not deserve me. There, I’ve said it. Making space to write these posts has been my small, stubborn feminist act of defiance. And for the most part, I’ve loved it! In the past few weeks, I’ve been considering how adaptable creativity can really be, and how it may be applied in an atypical environment.
A season of writing has included typing into my notes app on a beach2, passing a few sheets of scrawled paper into the hands of a stranger3, climbing a path once again to pick raspberries and consider my body4 — this organic, aging specimen. It has meant putting out fires and sharing words written by others about my neighbourhood5, when really I should have been stuffing apricots with fermented figs, watching neighbours organise6 in a space where others have failed us, receiving words of comfort from far away, a closure I wanted but didn’t think I’d ever get. Do you think he read it?!7
Today (Friday), I found myself absorbed in a collage, wondering who I might become, how I’ll feel if I ended up working full-time in my day job. Will I still carve out space for the joy of dreaming, writing, thinking — rewilding my soul? It’s been a really good week at work. I’ve felt enriched, spending time with volunteers who not only surprise and inspire me but, most importantly, make me laugh.
A summer season of dating has included confusion; holding space for both despair and for pizza and kisses, reflecting on my grudge against my own northern/Yorkshire heritage, rethinking the significance of the density of a towel, and reappreciating apple crumble as a metaphor. A poem I’d never really noticed from a book on my shelf read aloud in a way that made me want to read it again. And then there’s eyes on me as I daydream and walk down the street. It’s a Saturday staycation, cold but warm enough to be walking down the street in just a dress and jumper, carrying a mortadella sandwich, tiramisu, chanterelles, a slab of focaccia, za’atar — thinking about a customer’s recommendation and hummus, and how much more of it we should really be ordering. I recognise the gaze: a deep wine of elderberries — a flutter in the breeze. I saw something I had not seen before; maybe I was not looking.8 As I look up, I realise, yes, I am being seen, and maybe I have been, and am, being heard.
.
As dappled late summer sun
shifts
to the cold, brazen stare
Of autumn,
I am rooted and ready for change.
On the beach
One thing I love about being single is going to the beach on my own. When the sun hints it may be nice. Or…it’s certainly not raining. On a day set aside for a heap of freelance tasks, I declare a st…
Raspberry flecks of ageing
Being edited professionally has been one of my greatest writing and thinking gifts. I know much of what I write weekly here wouldn't get past the keen eye of the person who first delved through my long, spirited sentences.
I love so much about this.
Cheering your dating on from afar and also offering solidarity because 💀.
I very much change/shift/cycle with the seasons and oftentimes find that my creativity swells during the fall and again in the spring. I’m holding onto that instead of trying to force myself to be a thing, the “right” thing, all the time. Besides, I love roasted veg.