Finally, the humidity and stickiness of summer is wearing off and making way for fresh wind and cold fingertips. I woke up this morning feeling so cosy in my bed, with the rain gently tapping on my window, and with a mug of earl grey in my hands (a perfect start to the day). The heat has been far too stifling lately, so today was the perfect opportunity to take a walk in the light rain and enjoy the little treasures nature has to offer. It’s undoubtedly the best way to keep oneself grounded.
Since I was little, I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of faeries and sprites presenting themselves as creatures like beetles with iridescent armour, or colourful dragonflies. I think they live in the hollows of gum trees and amongst the moss-covered rocks of creeks. Crystalline drops of dew are their source of water and they feed on little grubs in the soil. Of course, the males are mischievous by nature, they play tricks on humans – stinging them, tangling them in webs, tripping them with vines (even you might have been prey to their antics). Seduction – now, that is the art of the females. They drink nectar from honeysuckles, giving them a sweet voice that humans can’t hear. They whisper and dance whilst creating beautiful blooms of all colours and orchestrating birdsong. Don’t be fooled, they’re deadly too. They’re the ones who lure flies into spiderwebs.
I’ve lived most of my life in this suburb. It never changes – but I do. Sometimes I find myself back in a place tied with a memory, like the gate my friend Isabel and I used to swing on, the playground behind my primary school, or the treehouse where my first love played me a song on the guitar when I’d broken both our hearts. It can feel like I’m watching the ghosts of what once took place on an old film. I imagine myself back where I was years ago, and see my present self looking on from a distance. It’s a very peculiar feeling. Maybe the faeries enjoy playing tricks on my memories.
The notions of permanence and transience cling to my thoughts when I take walks. Bees and flies barely live in comparison to us, yet we barely live in comparison to trees. Every change of season sees the death and renewal of little insects and leaves – a constant, inescapable cycle that we’re part of. Even the faeries die, their magic absorbed into the earth, and renewed with the birth of a young one, emerging from the ground like a sprout. It yawns and stretches as it enters a new life.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!No hungry generations tread thee down;The voice I hear this passing night was heardIn ancient days by emperor and clown:Perhaps the self-same song that found a pathThrough the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,She stood in tears amid the alien corn;The same that oft-times hathCharm’d magic casements, opening on the foamOf perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.– John Keats, Ode to A Nightingale
I don’t know about you, but I always have a sort of soundtrack playing in my head when I do things. It’s a weird way of imagining myself in a scene from a movie, or from the perspective of an outsider. A bit weird, but I’m sure I’m not alone in this. Today it was Yuzin, a beautiful piano piece from Yann Tiersen’s EUSA (listen to it here). All the compositions in the collection are minimalist piano works inspired by nature; Tiersen creates melodies that are ethereal and nostalgic, akin to the sound of rain, birds and wind. The fluttering high notes in Yuzin (in C# minor) are hauntingly beautiful and perfect for settling into a dreamy space on rainy autumn mornings.
I made it home just in time before the rain started pouring down and settled down for another cup of tea and a cookie. I’ve been enjoying quiet and solitude so much lately; it’s a time for reflection and making peace.
I suddenly have a very strong craving to make a turmeric and lentil soup for a late lunch, and some baked apples with cinnamon for later. Maybe I’ll drop some recipes on here at some point if people are interested.
Thank you for reading… x