JOURNAL: awaiting passage

Perhaps this font should be green for hope or for new beginning, but it's blue. Deduce what you will but it is a poor riddle. I would -if I could- fly on the wings of Isis to a warmer place, my wintering bolt-hole for the months to come. My body has ached for days with the dropping temperatures and I need brighter light. Ah for the sharp, crisp, dry cold of Scotland in autumn instead of London's soggy entry into Samhain!

My little bramble cottage begins to express itself, last night in a dream I cleaned it and felt the energies flow stronger and more definite. Tonight I shall explore the hills behind, in the middle distance. Perhaps my first visitor shall soon arrive.

In the kitchen today a chicken and bacon pie cooking slowly in the oven; and some sweet potato in a saucepan. Winter food, accompanied by a bountitude of fresh cress in a sharp modena vinegar salad. I looked at a pumpkin but I think that shall be for tomorrow, roasted with onions and carrots until sweetness oozes from it.

Talking with Mother, I told her I bring home some mead. When I explained what it was, she said 'so we can make it here, find out how to do it' and so I shall, I was instantly taken in my mind to her own kitchen in a village under the Andes among hills and forests. She used to cook up a storm and make conserves for winter, and purchase sacks of potatoes and flour and sugar all ready against the shortages that come in small places in deep winter. I was very little then and she was younger than I am now, a great deal younger and already with two small children at her knee.

Twilight comes early today, helped by rain clouds. Time to bring in the washing and think about closing the windows against the damp of evening. I shall light some incense and a candle, too soon in the year to use heating yet.