The light shifts...

It happens every year, yet it still catches me off guard.

The light begins to change — almost shy at first — sliding lower across the walls, stretching itself thin in the late afternoon. It dances differently now, softer, cooler, as if it knows winter is somewhere just behind the door.

I haven’t written here since June. Not because I forgot, or because life became too busy, but simply because I needed to pause. To step sideways for a while. To do something else with my hands, my eyes, my mind.

I am, by nature, slow. I take time to decide. Time to observe what is actually happening around me. Time to understand what I want to create next. Time to appreciate the small things — the ones that only reveal themselves when you stop rushing.

As the days contract and the cold settles in, this slowness becomes a kind of companion. A rhythm that feels right. Work becomes quieter, more intentional. Each gesture is deliberate: preparing a dye bath, choosing a fabric, waiting for color to bloom… nothing in a hurry, nothing forced.

The light outside moves in fragments now — quick flickers on the floor, little bright intervals between long shadows. It reminds me that everything is always shifting, even when I feel still. That the seasons are allowed to change, and so am I.

Maybe that’s what this season is for. Letting things unfold gently. Letting ideas take the time they need. Letting light dance the way it wants to.

I’m here again — slowly, but fully.