Making it last

Visiting my friend Jennie, enjoying her garden in the mellow afternoon of autumn, and watching the tuis feeding. Jennie's husband John makes these ingenious bird feeders, using an upturned bottle that dispenses sugar water into a bowl. The tui first sits and watches (there's a neighbourhood cat).

It's safe to feed.

Sipping sweet nectar; that's how it feels as each golden day unfolds. How much longer can it last? I'm drinking it in: the sun, the peace, the bounty of late autumn.

Emptying out

 I've been reflecting on letting go and emptying out, taking my cue from nature's shedding, and also in preparation for the autumn retreat I'm leading in a couple of weeks' time.
As I took an afternoon walk, I found the berms covered with bits and pieces from people's homes. It's inorganic rubbish collection time, held at the perfect time of year, when nature is also getting rid of debris, ready for winter. What caught my eye was one chair after another, plus a sofa, too covered in debris to photograph.

I pondered on these empty chairs, thinking of the use they've had, the people who've sat on them, and the many conversations that took place.

And now they've served their time. I wonder what new seats have taken their place, and with what pleasure they are being tried out, and what new conversations will take place from within their arms.

I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.

Henry David Thoreau

Earth hour

I'm preparing my candles for Earth Hour tonight, from 8.30 to 9.30 pm.

Earth hour began in Sydney in 2007, when 2.2 million people and over 2000 businesses turned off their lights for one hour to take a stand against climate change and unsustainable energy use.
Last year, on Saturday 27 March, over 128 countries and territories joined in.
We are learning more and more ways of linking up as one earth. This simple action, flowing in a wave around the planet as each country reaches 8.30 pm, gives me hope. I also like to think of the stars shining more brightly tonight as artificial lights are turned off and the night sky is reclaimed.
My action to go 'beyond the hour' is to find an apartment-friendly way of turning my food waste to compost.

In the clover

In spring I photographed this very bank, when it was shimmering white with onion weed. Now, in autumn, red clover is sprinkled around, with its fulsome flowers passing into seed heads.
On the way back from my walk a couple of days ago, I noticed a splash of colour amidst the clover. Can you see it, in the centre of this photo?

I moved closer, to discover . . .

Here it is, the last of the monarchs (or so I imagined; a variation on the last swallow of summer). Then I saw a fat bumble bee, feasting on the flowers, but I wasn't quick enough to catch it.

This week I heard that the godwits had departed.

Before flying off, the monarch gave me a display of its bright interior.

Autumn: it's a poignant time; a season of endings, with flashes of richness.

A day of gifts

After sitting on the beach, I felt inspired to pick up my coloured pencils and draw. It's been a full day, in which I received a surprise gift from my friend Anne, sent all the way from England.
Two years ago I admired her turquoise jacket and now, after much hunting, she's found one for me in Marks and Spencer's. She wrapped it in beautiful paper and sent it off with a note to say 'a surprise is always nice to have.' How fortunate I feel, to have such a good friend, and to be soaking up the late autumn sun in a beautiful place.

Serenity and gratitude

The sun came out again, and another mellow day unfolded. I took my writing to the beach, and sat there while the seagulls stood in the weed-covered sand, and clouds and yachts sailed by in sky and sea.

The sand was dotted with small mounds, created by tiny creatures. I thought about small worlds, and made my own small world, a sanctuary to contain my gratitude for another beautiful day.

Autumn equinox

Today is autumn equinox, and it's gently raining. I discovered the local grower's market yesterday and stocked up on produce: feijoas, which are beginning to appear, tomatoes which are finishing, farm eggs, many lush greens, and best of all, fat blackberries which bring back happy gathering memories from childhood. In Taranaki we picked them by the bucketload from the sides of the roads, in the days before spraying became common. At the end of the day we'd return home satiated from sampling, and with our fingers stained red and black.

A French woman was serving ratatouille from her stall, and after tasting this delicious dish filled with provencal herbs, I bought the last two pots. 'I won't be making it next week,' she said, explaining that the aubergines and courgettes are getting too expensive now.
Before the clouds drew over the sky I photographed the full 'supermoon', which is the closest it has come to the earth since 1993. Nature is showing her abundant, benevolent face once more.