Hello friends,
I’m sorry this week’s newsletter is late. After writing a newsletter, I schedule it to post automatically on a Sunday morning, but for some reason I had this one set for the wrong day. I was going to leave it as is, but after making the first apple crisp of the season today, I wanted to add it to my list and share it with you now. This post was going to be for paid subscribers only, but I decided to share it with everyone this time. Happy Sunday!
The other day, my brother and I were reminiscing about my earliest childhood best friend. I told him that many of my firsts happened with her. The first time I tried meatloaf, my first visit to Sonic, my first-time attending church. Somehow our conversation spiraled into a discussion about cultivating simple pleasures.
Cultivating simple pleasures is really about learning to see the world from a different perspective. It is about noticing beauty and magic, and about enjoying things to the fullest. The French have a beautiful expression for this way of looking at the world — la vie en rose.
Now that autumn is well and truly here in upstate New York, I wanted to share my list of simple pleasures (of late) with you. And please share a few of yours in the comments if you’d care to.
Simple Pleasures of Late
Finally finding local apples and sharing them with my child.
Baking the first apple crisp of the season.
Connecting with a solitary crow on a cool, mizzling day.
Unpacking autumn and winter clothes and rediscovering opalescent sequin clutches that remind me of my grandmother.
Treating myself to a cappuccino, which always reminds me of dear friends in England and all of our day trips.
The satisfaction of planting trees with my community for our Memorial Trees Program and deciding that a yellow birch will be in memory of my familiar, Ginny.
Dreaming of a new story idea.
Dreaming beautiful dreams.
Seeing pink roses blooming, in October, and noticing they are still intensely fragrant.
Browsing a favorite antique shop and thinking of ideas for Yuletide presents for loved ones.
Receiving a special gift from a cherished friend. (A handmade Matilda quilt)
Writing and receiving letters from friends from around the world.
Opening my old Instagram account and finding photos of my dad when he was young in a message from my cousin in Oz.
Passing on some of my child’s old clothes to a friend.
Adding geranium oil to the cleaner for the floor.
Unearthing a sachet of sandalwood I’d forgotten about. It’s extra special as it is bundled in fabric from a shirt gifted to me when I was twelve by my older brother’s friend who I admired. That sandalwood sachet has been to England and back several times.
Feeling the rain-drenched grass against my bare feet.
I could keep adding to the list, but you get the idea. How can you cultivate simple pleasures? What are some of yours?
Writing Update
A lovely soul messaged me the other day to let me know he read my book of poetry and loved it, and he was kind enough to share his favorites with me. It made me think of all the people who have read my poetry and felt connected with it and shared this with me too. This in turn made me think of the difference between writing for a particular audience when you write short stories or novels versus the process of writing poetry. When I wrote my novel, Finding the Bird Whisperer, I had a particular audience in mind. But when I write poetry, the words just pour out of me. Perhaps it’s because the act of writing poetry (at least for me) is so deeply personal, it always takes me by surprise when my words resonate with anyone.
I don’t have a particular audience in mind when I write poetry. I write because I have to get the words out. So, if my poems are meaningful to you, it makes me feel less alone in the world. And I so appreciate those of you who have shared that my book (or a poem or two) have grabbed ahold of you and made you feel something.
I have slowly been assembling new poems for a chapbook, but I haven’t decided on a release date yet. If you have read my poetry, what sort of poems would you like to see in my next book? Is there a particular theme you would like me to explore?
And if you haven’t read my poems, here are a few.
On Becoming Briar Rose (published in The Wistful Wild) Tiptoe into the woods at dawn, quietly so as not to vanish the magic. Walk barefoot on the moss and pine littered ground. Listen to the birdsong. Do you hear blackbird, cuckoo, and thrush? Place bird seed in the palm of your hand and offer it skyward. Stand so still you fuse with the earth. When a bird lands on your arm speak to it softly -- make your voice a song. And most importantly, know you don't need mastery of a sword or a warrior's aggression to be strong Kindness and a loving heart are the most powerful magic of all and some women were born to be doves.
Cocooning (Published in Winter 2022 Edition of Capsule Stories) You light a candle to remind me of what is holy. Voices quieten as daylight dims and the candle's glow hugs the darkness. You peel the apples and I chop them, carefully preserving seeds to be counted, fortune known. In the oven the apples go with oats, brown sugar, and cardamom. We read, silently together while we wait wrapped in a green velvet blanket. Winter's kiss drawing us together again.
Hedgewitch (in True North) You flower in the wild in the holy, whispering places and wither in the grimy, people filled cities. Don't pity the hermit who has soulful conversations with crawdads, bees, and the wind. Instead, pity the people surrounded by crowds of grasping, empty shells attempting to fill themselves but not knowing how.
Idiosyncrasies (in True North) Rediscovering your seal skin doesn't have to be a grand backpacking across Europe adventure. What if you come home to yourself inch by inch? a snail's pace unfurling of self-discovery found in tiny moments etched into your skin with invisible ink. Sipping lavender moon tea. Watching a hummingbird hover around scarlet bee balm. The soul piercing caw of a crow one cloudy August day. The musty apple scent of your son's sweat. A few lines in a book so like a portal to the secret nooks and crannies of your bruised heart. Perhaps there are threads connecting each of these moments -- a pattern woven between them -- turning them into the story only you can live.
Mirror Reflections (in True North) If eyes are the windows to the soul when I peer into a mirror I should see a spark of life an ember waiting to be inflamed. My crow eyes see far but they can not see in front of me my face in the mirror for my body is an illusion empty cage of bones My butterfly, ghost soul journeys vast distance, remains tiptoeing through dreams I prefer to be a dream walker untethered soul fluttering whimsically free
Thank you for reading.
That's a lovely selection of poems. I think Idiosyncracies is my favourite there.
How magical! I loved all the moments you shared, especially those pretty clutches. Your very life is poetry, Caitlin, and I adore the pictures your paint with your words. (Also, thank you for sharing some of your poems! Mirror Reflections was my favorite. I love how you describe the body and soul...so lovely.)