when the leaves turn orange
when the leaves turn orange
October diary entry
Welcome to Memory Journal, a curated collection of memories, literary and culinary delights, favorites, personal musings, and a featured poem. Each piece invites you to explore the beauty of the ordinary and the magic of the ephemeral that shape our lives.
“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”
― L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables“This tree must be falling for me, as soon as I sat under it, it dropped its leaves.
Oh sweet October!”
― Charmaine J Forde
views
a poem for october
dreaming of spring lullabies
it’s sparkling, it’s silver
the cold, fresh water on my feet,
the shores of the earth
my eyes hear the last crescendo of light
in the yellow leaves,
as bright as hope
before the dark of winter
they let go of the tree’s firm hold
and fall in a spiral dance on the earth
their resting place
to dream of spring lullabies
and nourish the roots
its orange and green
hug an earthly sunset
the sky gifts its lover a veil
of fog and mist
the silent waters start jumping
leaving behind hidden traces
of a summer passed
books
The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron: This journey was transformative for me; approaching it with gentleness and a soft touch rekindled my creativity, often through the simple, devoted act of showing up for it.
Lore, Alexandra Bracken: This is a modern twist on Greek mythology where gods walk among mortals and partake in a deadly competition. It was fun and reminded me of Hunger Games.
The Women, Kristin Hannah: This story was so powerful and I keep thinking about it every day since I finished it. It speaks of the resilience and camaraderie among women nurses in wartime, it’s both haunting and brilliant.
All The Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr: This book tells the story of a blind French girl and a German boy during WWII, it’s harsh and all about survival and the resistance of spirit.
Parade, Rachel Cusk: The writing was so wonderful as expected. Multiple different, yet interlinked stories, are told in a way that blurs the lines between them. What stands out is the narration of the woman and the artist’s experience that bleeds throughout the whole book.
One afternoon G’s daughter looked up from her book and asked G why there needed to be men. Why can’t there just be mothers and children?
If she’s like most poets, Mauro said, she suspects that what she does is entirely useless, not because it’s a luxury but in the sense that a spider’s web hanging in the corner of a room is useless. Everyone ignores the spider’s web, which nonetheless required enormous persistence and patience to make and yet can be brushed away in an instant without anyone noticing. No one notices poetry, he said, but when they find it and look closely at it they see something marvellous, like the spider’s web. The spider’s web has nothing to do with history or politics or oppression, he said, it exists in a different reality from those things and is obviously much weaker and more fragile than they are. It is more linked to survival than to power or violence–it survives in spite of them. It can be brushed away and all that work wasted, but then the work starts again, in another corner of the room.
We understood that the opportunity to disguise and transform ourselves had passed. We realised that the death of our mother’s body meant that we now contained her, since she no longer had a container of her own. She was inside us, as once we had been inside her. The pane of glass between herself and us, between the dark of outside and the day of inside, had been broken. We recognised the ugliness of change; we embraced it, the litter-filled world where truth now lay.
Bellies, Nicola Dinan: This is a candid, heartfelt narrative of love, identity, and transition within a modern queer relationship. I enjoyed how raw the writing was but it was unnecessarily slow for me.
Greta & Valdin, Rebecca K Reilly: This is the story of two siblings. Their interactions are filled with humor and warmth and accurately portray the complexity of sibling dynamics and the struggle for individuality. Ultimately it’s a story about the beauty of acceptance and connection.
Just Kids, Patti Smith: This is Patti Smith’s nostalgic, poetic memoir about friendship, art, and ambition in 1970s New York City. It’s a masterpiece and I definitely want to read it again.
A Million Junes, Emily Henry: This is unlike any other Emily Henry book I’ve read. Through magical realism, lyrical prose, and vivid imagery, it explores the essence of youthful longing and the complexities of familial ties, reminding us that sometimes the key to breaking free from the past lies in embracing the magic of the present.
food
This chocolate cupcake🤤
pottery
This month, I attended a couple of pottery classes, and in one of them, I made this cute mushroom mug, inspired by the mushrooms I’ve been seeing scattered throughout the forest. Pottery has been incredibly therapeutic and relaxing and has allowed me to slow down, and connect with the creative process in a way that feels deeply grounding. I highly recommend it and cannot wait for more creativity, in all its forms.
substacks
some of the pieces i loved this month by
, , and .
tv show
I watched Nobody Wants This and I loved it. If you love romance you probably will too. It ponders the love story of an outspoken agnostic podcaster and a charming rabbi. The banter and chemistry between them is out of this world! The only thing wrong about it is that season 2 isn’t out already.
listens
a poem I loved this month
Perhaps the World Ends Here by Joy Harjo
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
this month i also wrote:
Tell me all about your October🍂
So fun to get a peak inside your world Nadia. 💕 the mushroom mug you made is so cute.
Such a beautiful ode to October 🍂 I loved the poem so much, I’ve also been deeply witnessing the falling leaves this season and it’s brought me so much joy. Reading your poem felt like a mirror of my own reflections. I also just recently started watching Nobody Wants This and loving it!! I’m on that last episode and can’t wait for the next season.