Autumn is a farewell song to summer as winter creeps nearer with each turn of the earth. Already I forget the hot sting of sunlight on my skin, the sun-warmed blood pulsing, radiating through patchwork veins, a soothing quietude. Damp skies painted with grey strokes leave a chill in my bones, deep in the marrow where winter’s blood is made with old magic, but somewhere, buried within the blackness of my flesh, a spark of gold lingers, a brief image of summers past with a promise of more to come. There is hope hiding there, in the darkest of times, waiting, like summer’s blazing sun, to rise again and envelop the world with its light.

Venturing outside as lockdown in London eases has become more harrowing and anxiety filled than before as people flood the streets and pavements once again. It feels both dangerous and normalising to see so many people out and about, as though the threat has evaporated, but on some level we know it hasn’t. It’s still there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to reappear–and perhaps with a vengeance. Walking through the park and gazing upon mirrored pools of water evoke a sense of calm; feelings like serenity, peacefulness, and tranquility assuage the unease settled deep down within our nerves. If only it wasn’t temporary.

This old tree is waiting for a friend.

An oak tree filtering sunlight through its lace-patterned leaves. A gorgeous sight at 5AM. Most of London is asleep then. I passed a few old men walking even older dogs as I made my way to the Heath. The young rise late, if they rise at all. I used to stumble into awakeness. Now I fall. The trick is to land on your feet. Today my feet took me to watch the sunrise. All the birds were awake, singing their signature songs. Two foxes watched me pass, their human faces pinched with suspicion. I stepped over shell-less slugs and climbed the too tall hill. A bench welcomed me and my mug of coffee. Still warm. And I watched the sun rise in the distance. A woman appeared on the path behind me, singing off key. Good morning, London.

There’s one week left to view a lifetime of work from surrealist photographer and painter, Dora Maar, at the Tate Modern. A unique artist, overlooked for decades, it’s a definite must see. This painting of her house in Ménerbes stood out for me with the amazing color palette. Many of her more well known collages and commercial work are on display. Some of the images are reminiscent of 1950’s scifi films. Like walking through a time warp. #WomensHistoryMonth