poetry and whimsy
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Hello, October
October always feels like the month that slows me down in the best way. The air changes, and suddenly I’m reaching for sweaters, lighting candles, and craving soups and bread fresh from the oven. This month, I put together a… Continue reading
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The Language of Dust and Sunbeams
There are certain afternoons when the light shifts just so, and suddenly the air itself becomes visible. A soft stream of sun spills through the window, and the dust, the ordinary, invisible dust that floats around us all the time… Continue reading
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The Season of Autumn: A Birthday Reflection
I’ve always carried a quiet joy in knowing that my birthday belongs to autumn. Not to a single date or moment, but to this whole turning of the year when the world exhales and begins to soften. Born in the… Continue reading
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A September Gift for You
September always feels like a soft turning point, the air grows crisper, the evenings draw closer, and suddenly the kitchen feels like the coziest place in the house again. I wanted to capture that feeling, not just in words, but… Continue reading
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A Letter to Summer
Dear Summer,You arrived quietly this year. No grand announcement, no blazing sunburst, just the soft rustle of leaves and the hum of bees drifting through the open window. I almost missed your entrance, distracted as I was by grocery lists… Continue reading
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The Art of Living Unseen: Creating Beauty No One Claps For
Sometimes I wonder how many beautiful things go unnoticed every day. A batch of scones baked in a quiet kitchen while the dog sleeps underfoot.A garden bed weeded by hand with dirt under the fingernails and no one watching.A child’s… Continue reading
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My Favorite Words and Why I Love Them
Some words just feel good. Not because they’re fancy or impressive, but because of how they sound, or how they make me feel when I say them. I collect them like little treasures, tucked into poems, scribbled in the margins… Continue reading
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On Love, Longing, and the Ghost of Mr. Darcy
Last spring, I was in England. I walked the streets of Bath, where Jane Austen once lived. I stood outside the very buildings she might’ve passed, wandered the same hills, the same gardens. And even though the city has changed,… Continue reading
Autumn Rosewood 