"summer"

life lately: carried by the surprise of its own unfolding

Most mornings I wake up to a soft drizzle falling onto the lawn outside my cabin. There has been a lot of rain. Summer has not passed the threshold of the UK this year. She flirts with us like a lover with a better option and does not stay.

Most mornings begin in bed with a warm drink. Lately, apple cider vinegar with raw honey in a stolen pint glass while I slowly wake up my face with a gentle massage. Followed by a matcha with mushrooms and raw milk as I move around my space getting ready for the day. My craving for iced drinks has not been met by the weather conditions.

This morning I cracked open my eyes to see my cat — his long body stretched out fitted tightly against mine, on his back asleep with his mouth open snoring softly — and laughed. He’s a pretty good stand-in boyfriend during this season of being (mostly) alone.

I tug the braid out of my hair, step into a pair of linen trousers, pull a soft cashmere knit over my head and go into the bathroom to spray lavender hydrosol on my face and brush my teeth. Back in the bedroom, the cat out and stretching himself on the ground I raise the duvet high into the air with might and momentum to make the bed and fluff the pillows back into their rightful positions. I potter in the kitchen moving things from one place to another, mostly into the sink to wash up later and make another drink.

Between sips of matcha I dab concealer into the corners and shadows around my eyes and a few blemishes on my chin, curl my lashes and pat a deep red lip-to-cheek onto my lips and then cheeks. An old leather bag bought at a vintage market in San Francisco years ago gets pulled from a hook and is filled with necessities: laptop, calendar, pen, purse.

I’m on my period and consider for a moment if my all-white outfit is a safe choice which finally I deem is perfectly fine, mostly because I don’t care, and slip sandals on, my only reproach to the relentless rain.