In the East Neuk, seasons don’t ease in. They barge through the door—one day strawberries, the next, plums.
This week, September arrived overnight. The sea has lowered its voice, the mornings are sharper. Even the geraniums look ready to rest.
I used to think change should be graceful. But nature doesn’t glide—she turns. Abruptly. Decisively.
The question is: what am I holding onto from another season? And what might grow stronger if I let it fall?