The beginning of autumn ...

There's something magical about the last summer days of the year. As August drifts by, the days become increasingly more precious; each sunny day a little weaker than its predecessor, the minutes of sunlight slowly shrinking in. There's a certain impulsiveness hanging in the air, an uncertain wondering as to which summer's day will be the last.

In Denmark we have a word for these days of expectations and uncertainty; we call it sensommer.

This year, the last day of summer turned out to be the last day of August. It was a beautiful day and I spent it walking barelegged through the forest, no winds nor cloud in sight. The sun was unbearably hot and there was no hint or warning that it would be the last summer day of the year. There never is.

The moment, the calendar changed to September, the winds changed. The endlessly blue sky that had ruled only the day before shifted into a never-ending shade of grey, stretching as far as the weather forecasts could predict. I went for a walk and needed a scarf, I saw chestnuts falling from trees and felt a certain crispness in the air. And I knew we were in the early autumn where the sun and the grey skies would occasionally battle; only for the sun to withdraw and hide. Until next year ... 

Now we're in the middle of September, and the days are slowly getting shorter. I light scented candles and drink tea, wear chunky scarfs and knitted jumpers. I suddenly have an urge to grab every unread book on my bookshelf and read for days. I want board the Hogwarts Express or disappear into Gothic tales of ghosts and haunted mansions. I want to dream of enchanted castles and forgotten times. I want to open books and live inside of them. I want to go exploring and get lost.

At this time of the year, the apples taste better, the air is crispier and my home seems cosier. And as the leaves slowly turns deep red, golden and brown, and the days becomes shorter and less bright, I fall in love with this season all over again.

 

A quiet reading day

Sundays are made for reading. At least, I think so. Time works different on Sundays; it slows down and stretches to an eternity as the brain tries to chase away the idea of Monday and its awaiting duties.

When I was younger my mother used to call Sundays "PJ days"; and my and my siblings were allowed to sleep in, to spend all day in our PJ's and to drink all of the hot cocoa we wanted. Sunday was a day for (what we Danish famously call) "hygge" and doing nothing at all. Sundays were different; the only days were laziness were allowed.

And now, even as an adult, I associate Sundays with slow morning of sleeping in, eating pancakes for breakfast and hiding from the world by escaping into books. Sundays are days of no plans and an endless amount of possibilities; messy hair, lying in the bed for hours and listening to my boyfriend's slow intake of breath, dedacent breakfast tables and a pile of books on the night stand.

And this Sunday is no exception.

I'm spending my day in the company of Helen Sedgwick's beautiful novel The Comet Seekers. I've tried to read it before but as I wasn't in the proper headspace, the Sedgwick's poetic words became slippery before my eyes and I had to put it down. This time, I hope I'll be able to concentrate on it and appreciate it. 'Cause I'm sure it's beautiful. 

The Comet Seekers is a book filled with magical realism. It's about comets and the people that watch them, hoping for miracles to unfold underneath the wonders of the sky. The book is split in two and follows a family in France and a woman who is able to see her dead family members, when she looks up at the comets. Simultaneously two cousins in Ireland watch the comets and fall in love; a complex love that is neither light nor easy. 

Eventually I'm sure the two plot strings will be tied together and that the characters will meet while comets blaze around them, leaving fiery trails in the night sky. But for now, I've only just started reading and just appreciate the poetry in Sedgwick's writing.

What are you reading at the moment? Anything good? I hope you all have a lovely Sunday!

"No post on Sundays"

It's Sunday, and it's snowing. I'm hiding beneath my duvet, drinking boiling hot tea while, paradoxically enough, having the windows open and watching a few snowflakes flying in and transform to a puddle of water on my pillowcase. My laptop lies open and I'm trying to ignore the white space ahead of me; the empty text box that I have no idea of how to fill.

How do I begin this? 

The truth is: this is a well-known routine. I'm a serial blogger. I really am. I've started 7 blogs in the past 10 years; all of which I have abandoned. I've blogged about books, about clothes, about make-up and about all of the dear moments in my everyday life. As long as I can remember, I've used the internet to create spaces where I could write. But I've never had a space to write about one of the things I love the most: Harry Potter.

Recently I've fallen into a rabbit hole. The dear corner of Instagram, that is Pottergram. Here people share their love for Harry Potter. For The Boy Who Lived and the many lives he has influenced along the way. And it has inspired me so much. I've started my own little Instagram-account dedicated to the Potter world, and now I've found a need for this blog. On here, I will share some of my viewpoints on the books as well as my personal Harry Potter memories, I'll review books and merchandise, and perhaps I'll share some odd bits from my personal life as well. 

I'm still not sure what this blog is going to be or where it will take me. But I guess, that's the beauty of it. Isn't it?