Collige, virgo, rosas, dum flos novus et nova pubes,
et memor esto aevum sic properare tuum
Gather, girl, roses while the flower is fresh and fresh is youth,
remembering that your own time is hurrying on.
Ausonius (c. 310–395)
My desk has been restored, my muse has returned from her vacation, the equinox gales have arrived and my quiet life on the island has resumed.
The garden demands my attention, there are herbs to dry, preserves to make, cakes to bake and books to read. I must await the return of the wild swans, watch the waxing and waning of the moon, count the stars, long for the northern lights, be inspired by the rising and setting of the sun and listen to the songs of the seals.
I am stirred by the rush of the wind, soothed by the sound of the waves and refreshed by the rain. Nurtured by nature, with my head in the clouds and my secrets safe with the stars, I am free to fly, travel in time and dream of distant horizons.
The rhythm of my life is circadian, beating with the ebb and flow of the tides, synchronised with the music of the spheres. There is solace in solitude and love and laughter in companionship. I still seek the wisdom of age and have to learn how to grieve with grace, yet time slips through my fingers like sand. Is there still time to learn to dance in the daisies in the moonlight?