I forget how quick the light changes as soon as it’s decidedly fall. I’m taking note of the dirty hues for future color palettes and appreciating the unkept beauty and melancholy of the last roses. Still feeling a little of that unsettled creativity, not knowing what will be the next shift, getting comfortable sitting in the uncomfortable. There’s a dark wash of color on my hook, and moments when we’re desperately trying to hang on to the light, capturing the late blooms in crochet and making jewels with the lavender from grandmas garden. It’s October, it’s familiar.