It’s that in-between time when summer is past, but autumn is not yet in glory. An in-between time for me too. For the first time, I am restless; but there is still a strong sense that it is too soon, too soon to make space for tension or to choose to think.
So I spent the morning at the botanic gardens, looking at the butterflies. Later, I will go to the shops, then do some washing and bake a cake. Tomorrow too, I suspect. But next week? Well, maybe it’s time. A book? A thought? A brief consideration of how to use the jubilee year? Perhaps.
