I'm writing this sat beside Audrey who is in the bath, singing "bubbly bubbles" and pretending her arms are a snapping crocodile who eats bath foam.
This summer was very full - of visitors, of friends and places, shows and play dates and play parks and day trips. It fits. Summer is a time when Edinburgh is crammed full of people and you can't move for art and inspiration and beautiful things and experiences. It fills the city up so much you can hardly move around; every bus is full, every street is full.
It is fun and precious and I'm so thankful to be able to experience it each year. But at the same time, each year by the end of summer I'm glad to see everything quieten down again. The last few weeks have been all about trying to settle back into our familiar routine, to remind ourselves of our limits - limits we might push some times but shouldn't ignore entirely.
We're easing into Autumn. I'm knitting sweaters and woollen dresses by the bucket load, we're making big pots of soup and freezing them in portions for later. We're reading stories, building castles, remembering to bring waterproof coats for our walks in the woods again.
Life has never been so seasonal, for me, as it is with a small child. I'm both more aware and more appreciative of them than I have been before.
I hope you're reading this by a window and that it's raining outside. Or else that the sun is shining and you're able to go out in it. I hope that it's nearly tea time, or perhaps the time to leave work. I hope that something colourful finds you on your way home. At least I hope to be able to remind you that life can be really beautiful when you want it to be.
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