As I sit here in the pale, quiet light, awaiting the worst storm in fifty years, I feel now and again a seawash of coolness coming through the opening window to touch me. It is only slightly chilling; mostly, it is softening. I do so love the hours before a storm.
And I love autumn too, with its gentle drawing inward. It is such a
homey season. It inspires an instinct towards warming, sheltering, which
seems to me like an instinct for love. I wonder if in autumn
prehistoric people brought the year's last flowers into their caves, and
found aesthetic pleasure in rugs, and in whatever softness they could
make for themselves. There really is something so sacred about making a
home here on earth, in this life - making a space of love which reflects
what we experience of divine love. Making a space which keeps people
warm, makes them feel safe and comfortable, so they can open themselves
to love too.
Which is why I am always saddened where I hear young people being asked
what they want to do with their lives, what job they want, with no
consideration or respect for the possibility that they might wish more
than anything to be a full-time homemaker. It's something many young
women struggle with, but I wonder how many young men also feel the same,
perhaps even worse, as while homemaking is thought of as a lesser
option for women, it is not thought of at all for men.
My sky is blanching, my garden growing still. Soon the rain will be
here. I am going to change my weblog, to make it warmer, more cosy.
Homemaking does not only happen in rooms. It happens in your heart and
your creative imagination too.