I know that it’s been literally months without posting, and that means, for me, months without writing, and that becomes unhealthy. I don’t feel like writing anymore because I broke the habit, but after over a year of writing frequently, mostly daily, I feel like I’m cheating myself.
Life is good and busy and full to bursting. My schedule is finally set and every minute of every day seems to have a purpose which is both great and terrible- I have little free time to spread around, but I spiral without being overscheduled.
I know this post has no purpose, but it’s a start. It’s fall now; the seasons have changed since I’ve last written and the heat has broken and the leaves are falling. Everything is cooler and crunchier and crisp, even the air, and our house has been smelling like apple cider lately and cinnamon. I love fall, and it always seems to slip into winter too quickly.
I hope that you enjoy this day, that you appreciate the heaviness of the clouds and that one day when the leaves glow before they all fall at once, that you get good coffee this morning and a conversation that fills you up, that you are surrounded by people that give great hugs.
365 days of letters, notes, and written words. 