Visiting Mojo has been one of my favourite Sunday rituals. I love every single bit of it. I love the jazz music, the chatter, and the sound of the coffee machine in the background. I love it when the staff recognise my face and give me a big smile when I say “hi” at the counter, and when they say “see you next time” as I return the cups and wave them goodbye. I love it when it is early in the morning, the streets are still quiet, the sunlight is soft and gentle, and many, many people are still sleeping in. It’s Sunday, and I can finally rest. For some weird reason, I love writing at that coffee shop.

These days, the weather is lovely. Rain comes and goes, but it doesn’t seem to bother people much. I’ve started to bind books again and even set up a dedicated space for my crafting time. It feels so much better, as the “pack up and pack down” sometimes feels like too much work. But it is also a bit of a threat to my wellbeing, as I tend to get lost in the flow and forget to keep track of time. Sometimes, crafting and sleeping become things I have to negotiate.

Half of the year has passed, and it feels weird thinking about it. Is time just an illusion?

I’ve become a bit addicted to my new job (does it become another soon-to-be threat?).

Anyway, a few snapshots of those past days of autumn in the southern hemisphere….

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

– Mary Oliver