1st September

“Cords of saliva would collect on her lips; she would draw them in, then open her mouth again. Her mouth seemed to have a private existence of its own. It worked separate and apart from the rest of her, out and in, like a clam hole at low tide. Occasionally it would say, “Pt,” like some viscous substance coming to a boil.”

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

new seasonTuesday’s 1st September inspiration: a beautiful description from a novel which blew me away with its beauty at the time of reading it as a teenager, and still does. Some of my readers will know that part of the reason I write a weekly blog (occasionally more frequently) is because I want to live my life with purpose, on purpose, reflecting on life’s ups and downs and to be accountable. A little Birdie, my Hubby, my writer sister and my faith inspired me to start.

The other reason is because they say that if you want to call yourself a writer you need to write every day. Nyamazela.com accounts for 1 or 2 days a week. My work at the office (I do some copy and editorial writing) accounts for another 2 days. My freelance writing makes up the rest. There is plenty of room for more. I am a work in progress.

On this 1st day of September 2015, while my beloved southern hemisphere tweets and posts of new life and spring, my northern hemisphere home is feeling distinctly autumnal. The terrace furniture has been covered for a week to protect it against the current monsoon season and the only new life up there, hoping for some sun, is a late crop of about 6 strawberries, 9 cherry tomatoes, some water-logged leeks and carrots and fennel that needs a bigger pot.

But new life, not autumn, is my current feeling. If I stop to look, I am surrounded by it. We know half a dozen friends who are pregnant, a few who have just bought a house, another moving, others hoping to change jobs or launch new businesses and my Hubby’s work is flooded with enquiries. There are always needs and plenty of people I am praying for, but in general the overriding feeling is hope.

Hope is what I hold onto. How do I hope? Deliberately. Expectantly. I do masterclasses: (a session of bowls on the bank holiday weekend thanks to W & L); a cooking course coming up in October with Hubby (thanks to my parents-in-law). I stay inspired by the writing of others – right now it’s www.allaboutwritingcourses.com which is feeding me. Cups of tea are filled with hopeful, reflective sips. Family and friends. Working on the things I’ve always wanted to do instead of just talking about how I could have done them. Practising hope daily is also something I work on.

My sincerest love and blessings to all my readers no matter what season you are going into.

SMALL PRINT:
P.s. I am teaching myself to touch type and am currently in the frustrating stage where my stubborn, uncoordinated fingers are moving substantially slower across the keyboard than they used to when I used to type with 3 or 4 fingers on each hand – but it’s one of those things I always said I wished I could do… I’m no longer in the business of wishing, but in the business of trying.

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