02/09/2026
Preparing for the worst and living for the best, August felt like a second hibernation, a backpack of anxiety, grief, a slow exhale, a homecoming… as a beautiful friend says it’s been ‘like pushing water uphill’ (so apt for a drought) Here’s my month, in no particular order, through this cracked lens:
There have been moments of such beauty amongst the harshness of this summer. Tenderness, honesty, hope.
I pilgrimaged so hard I bruised my feet walking to see the solar eclipse through dry fields and still-damp holloways to view from an ancient hill fort. A flirtation with Agatha Christie. Wriggling toads, a greenhouse full of frogs, a mouthful of unsaid words, dead baby pigeons on my stairs, hungry kittens, fleeting lizards, eagle potential, swimming with a seal in the North Sea and garden grasshoppers galore. I watered things I wanted to keep alive. Hauling buckets of grey water down. Closing the windows. Opening the windows. Rituals we never asked for. I let plants die. Continually letting go. And still a lot of admin to hold onto…
My first proper solo hike. Zero phone reception. Me and a map. Moments where there were only sheep and me and a distant bird of prey in the sky. Racing myself back.
A deep inner relief to see blankets of green. Beautiful new humans. A gorgeous retreat with paint and comfort and heat. And. Back to the rain.
I’ll squirrel architect into this a little more in my newsletter which won’t be out til September starts properly (i.e when the schools and colleges open their doors and my brain has space to settle). Message if you want to read those deeper ramb
