I’ve never felt it so acutely before. The exact moment summer ended. Two nights ago I was getting ready for bed, face washed and brushing my teeth when I rinsed my mouth and spat it in the sink. And I felt it as I saw it, summer swirling down the drain with the remains of my toothpaste. Then again yesterday, walking home I noticed the light had changed. It’s subtle. Autumn isn’t here yet. The wind is still warm. It does not yet smell of the new season, nothing is crisp about the air. But the light has changed. Still golden, but white gold not yellow. The leaves are green, but they are tired. They want to become something new, and I can see them preparing.

If I am what I eat, then what does that make me? If I say thank-you for my food, what am I thankful for? What does my gratitude ask me to give in reciprocity? If I am who came before me, then what do I owe to those who come after? Question. Prayer. Action. Question. Prayer.

Descending into Tromsø at sunset is indescribably beautiful. Stress and heartache cannot stand for long in the face of such breathtaking splendour as the dusky mountains provide. And suddenly, I am in a new world. One that is slippery underfoot and demands to be felt even through layers of woolen protection. I spent days watching presentations and talking with scientists dedicated to figuring out how to tackle the problem of antimicrobial resistance. There are so many ways to know the world, genomics, bioinformatics, organic chemistry, microbiology, mathematics, ethnography.

I am in a challenging season of life.

The beginning of the year was a gently curving upward spiral of making plans and steadily working towards them: growing in confidence, excited for the future.

And then the ground fell out from under me and and suddenly all I know is sick wrench of the fall, the crunch of hitting the floor and the daze of picking myself back up. I have fallen before, I know how to get back up again. I know that it is part of the journey, uncomfortable but sometimes necessary.

But then it happened again.

And again.

And again

I love Tik Tok. What began as a spring 2020 impulse download has become an integral part of my daily life. Although my poor dopamine deprived brain can suffer from the prolonged scroll sessions, I can’t stay away

When I was 9 I bought a tiny purple book of “Moon Magic” that contained a myriad of folklore, spells and rituals that referred to the moon. I would carry bowls of water through the house asking if anyone had seen the moon, then sit diligently in whichever window, capturing the moonlight in the water. I stored my ‘moon water’ in various dubious bottles that more often than not ended up gathering dust under my bed. I

My first academic task of 2023 is to write and submit to my supervisors a rough draft that outlines what the theoretical framework for my PhD project is.

I first wrote a blog in 2012 under the title Spinning Through Trees. I spent forever thinking of a name that felt right, teasing words and phrases apart for something that felt profound but not too big or pretentious so that it would suit me, a 17 year old writer. I struggled for months to find something that fit until my exasperated mother (an artist and chief encourager of the blog) told me to think about times I was most happy or joyful and draw inspiration from there. It was summertime, warm and balmy. The sunlight possessing the exact golden quality required to transform leaves into jewels, their dappled shadows dancing in the breeze. All I really wanted to do, all I have ever really wanted to do, is play outside

Part of being an academic, a PhD student, is about learning to become a writer. I haven’t written anything in a long time. It’s been a rough year. But I like the idea of being a writer. For me it’s an aspirational identity that I try it on sometimes for special occasions (or conference papers). Like high heels, I enjoy wearing them in the abstract, admiring myself in the mirror before quickly realising the discomfort that comes from actually walking in them. I power walk everywhere and have no patience for dainty steps.