Autumn

A thin coolness moves across the surface of the soil.
The morning chill has returned,
that familiar air long awaited.

The first days of autumn…
Rosehip and wild blackberry,
red hawthorn along the paths.

The mountains wake with crocus, wild hyacinth, and cyclamen.
In the meadows, dry grasses from summer still remain;
some have already found their place in glass domes.

The sun continues to warm,
but the leaves have begun to turn.
The olives stand at the edge of ripening,
the time for gathering draws near.
From time to time, the wind cools,
whispering of the winter to come.

The soil feels dry,
yet deep within
something seems to be waiting.

Birdsong has grown louder these days.
Perhaps the time for travel has arrived,
who knows.

Morning now comes a little later.
At the foot of the old stone wall,
rosemary is still in bloom.

The season’s wildflowers
wait quietly
on other pages.

Dried grasses, small twigs,
traces left behind along the paths,
rest in glass jars
within the Cabinets of Curiosities,
unnamed.

Another season
has been entered into the garden’s notebook.
Quietly, slowly,
like a leaf falling to the ground.

Autumn wildflowers arrive quietly.
They appear in the first morning chill, along mountain paths, in small clearings between grasses.

You don’t have to hurry to find them.
You only have to slow down, look, and notice. 🌙✨

✦ Autumn Squill
Scilla autumnalis
When: Late summer to autumn
Where: Open slopes, stony ground, dry footpaths
Trace: Thin stems, violet hues, a faint shimmer in the grass

✦ Autumn Saffron
Colchicum autumnale
When: Early to mid-autumn
Where: Meadows, damp clearings, foothills
Trace: Brief blooms; soft pink to lilac tones

✦ Wild Cyclamen
Cyclamen hederifolium
When: Autumn
Where: Woodland floors, shaded paths, stone wallsides
Trace: Small blooms rising through leaf litter; delicate swept-back petals

Traces of the season’s wildflowers continue on the
Wild Flowers of Türkiye page.

In autumn, the studio begins to slow down.

Jars rest on the shelves.
Lids open softly, close softly.
Oils wait, and mixtures never rush.

In this season, soaps are made using the cold process method.
Olive oil feels heavy, dependable.
Hands already know the rhythm.

Clay colours spread across the worktable:
red, green, pink…
and all those in-between tones.

Some days, small soaps appear.
The ones for the face remain simple,
the ones for the kitchen are made to last.

While a batch is prepared, the temperature is checked,
time is kept.

As the molds fill, quiet is protected,
and the rest is left alone:
drying is allowed to take its time.

As days pass, texture changes.
Even the same recipe
returns with a different face each time.

This is how the studio works in autumn. 🌿

As autumn reaches its middle,
the rhythm slows.

Things begin to find their own way,
and in October the olives come to ripeness.
Those meant for the table are chosen with care,
leaving a faint olive scent upon the palms.

November passes in quiet preparation.
Our wanderings for pine mushrooms and milkcaps
belong to these days;
each mushroom laid into the basket
adds a small tale to the season.

And then,
in our home as well,
a slow morning begins.

A slice of bread upon the table,
crowned with the violet-gold glow
of grapes warmed in butter.
Simple,
like a true autumn morning.

For more winter bites, recipe cards,
and a few Hobbit-worthy comforts,
the Second Breakfast page continues here. 🍞🍯🫖🌙✨

✧ Movies
• The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (2018)
• Julie & Julia (2009)
• About Time (2013)

✧ Music
Oscar Peterson – Tea for Two
Agnes Obel – Under Giant Trees
Howard Shore – Bag End

Calm Jazzzz – listen on Spotify.

✧ Books

Below await the books chosen by wandering minds, summoned beneath The Readers’ Coven of Old Oakshade.

Each whispers with a note and a photograph. 🌙✨

A Parisian Cabinet of Curiosities – Deyrolle

On a Magical Do-Nothing Day (Un Grand Jour de Rien)
by Beatrice Alemagna

Nicola Killen, 

Olli’s Lost Kitten

If one is on good terms with the seasons,
idleness comes more easily.

In autumn, days
are gently coloured by music.
Small stories gathered along the way,
a film suited to the late afternoon,
a book drawn from the quiet of the shelf
become the natural companions of these days.

None of them asks for haste.
A candle is lit,
something warm rests by the window.
A light jazz tune
blends into the room’s silence.
Sometimes a few lines are written,
sometimes a small drawing remains on the page.

These calm moments,
before they merge into the day,
are quietly recorded.

These brief pauses
shape the day without notice.
Like a slow breath,
like a warm cup.
They ask for nothing,
yet leave behind
a faint trace.

This is how autumn goes.

Olives are gathered, paths grow quiet.
The wind cools now and then, whispering of the coming winter.
Tables are cleared. Jars are sealed.

Stories draw inward. 

Winter is near. 🌙

A heavy dampness drifts over the ground.
The rain has returned, that familiar sound that darkens stone and soil.

The first days of winter…
Along the shore: the scent of seaweed and salt,
and the coolness carried in by the wind.

One morning, daffodils appeared out of nowhere.
Anemones opened in many colours across meadows and slopes.

Daylight comes later now and slips away sooner.
Evening’s hush settles quickly.

The world outside has grown heavier.
Paths are thick with mud, footprints sink deep;
sometimes wild boars leave their marks as well.

In the woods, lichen and moss spread in silence.
Nothing has vanished.
It has only slowed.

On cold days, I love the sea even more.
Walking by the shore feels kinder.
Small seashells, stones of every kind…
they gather in my pocket, in my palm, in my gaze.

Fog on the window, warm tea on the table.
Inside feels nearer. Outside feels farther.

The season’s flowers have already found their place:
on the page called Turkey’s Most Beautiful Wildflowers.

What I gather from the shore finds its home,
in small pieces,
within the Cabinets of Curiosities.

Another season has been written into the garden’s notebook.

Quietly, slowly,
like rain sinking into the soil. 🌙✨

Winter wildflowers arrive quietly.
They show themselves in rain-softened soil, in cool wind, in the sun’s brief visits.

You don’t have to hurry to find them.
You only have to look, pause, and notice. 🌙✨

✦ Daffodil
Narcissus
When: Mid-winter to early spring
Where: Coastal paths, stony hillsides, old gardens
Trace: A clean, sharp scent, strongest in the morning cold

✦ Anemone
Anemone coronaria
When: Late winter to early spring
Where: Meadows, clearings, sunlit slopes
Trace: Bright hues from white to violet, blush pink to deep red

Traces of the season’s wildflowers continue on the
Wild Flowers of Türkiye page.

In winter, the studio slows down.
Hands do less, eyes notice more.
Waiting becomes part of the making.

In this season, materials speak more clearly.
Colours mix slowly, water spreads heavier, and paper asks for patience.

Handmade lake pigments…
Colours drawn from earth, plant, and stone.
Naturally made pastels…
Soft layers where powder, oil, and time meet.
Handcrafted watercolours…
Mixed little by little, used gently, lasting long in small pans.

These practices belong to winter.
They are more sustainable, more kind to nature.
They make much with little, and deepen through quiet.

The studio is not for finishing in winter,
it is for paying attention.
Watching a colour for a long time,
waiting for a stain to dry,
trying the same tone again…

Winter making is small, but deep.
Quiet, yet it leaves a trace.
Winter does not hurry.
Neither do we. 🌙✨

As winter settles in,
the rhythm turns warm.

Cold days awaken a Hobbit appetite.
The kettle begins to hum,
the table is cleared,
and something simple is always on its way.

Bread is toasted.
Butter is melted.
A little honey is found.
A handful of nuts appears as if by magic.
Soup is kept close, ready to be reheated,
and the scent of cinnamon drifts through the kitchen like a small spell.

Outside, the rain may insist.
Inside, comfort is arranged.
Second Breakfast becomes a habit again,
and the day is fed gently, one warm bite at a time.

A pot is set on the stove,
a tray is filled,
and the house is allowed to feel kind.

For more winter bites, recipe cards,
and a few Hobbit-worthy comforts,
the Second Breakfast page continues here. 🍞🍯🫖🌙✨

✧ Movies
• The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring 

The Extended Editions (25th Anniversary, 2001) – IMDb 8.9

A grand road for the longest winter nights. A blanket, a warm drink, and the call to set out. It begins not outside your door, but with courage rising quietly within.

• Tales from the Loop (2020) – IMDb 7.5

A slow sci-fi dream that walks through winter silence. It speaks softly, yet leaves a deep trace. When it ends, a small secret stays in the room.

• The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013) – IMDb 7.3

A heart-warming tale of courage for long winter days. It makes you smile, loosens the shoulders, and wakes up that inner voice that whispers: “I could go, too.”

✧ Music

Atmospheric film scores for drifting thoughts and sleepless dreams.

Lullabies for Wandering Minds - Click to listen on Spotify.

✧ Books

Below lie the books chosen by wandering minds, summoned beneath The Readers’ Coven of Old Oakshade.

Each whispers with a note and a photograph. 🌙✨

People draw a little further inward in winter.
When the cold arrives, the home is arranged like a shelter.
Lights are turned on early, candles set upon the table.
Thick socks are pulled on, a blanket draped over the shoulders.
A warm cup is never far from reach.

A corner is chosen.
A book is opened, a film begun.
Music hums softly in the background.
Sometimes, you simply sit.

This is how winter moves.
Slowly, warmly. ❄️🫖🌙

But then,

slowly, it draws back.
Doors are left ajar more often,
and the days grow a little longer.
A stirring begins in the soil.

Spring is near. 🌿✨