It's Autumn here.
The days are noticeably closing in around us. We find ourselves retreating more often to the side of the fire, to the comfort of warm drinks and quiet stories in the middle of the day.
Stitching still continues. Now a steady companion to our read-alouds and often stuffed into pockets as we head out the door, the "heart list" is in constant motion.
After such busy street-living in the chaos of the late Summer, we now palpably feel our quieter rhythm and a turning inwards.
We continue to adjust to our scarred city and our recovering community.
The feelings reflect the realities; deeply shaken, revealing and complex.
It is a shocking but very special time.
Holding and honouring all of this is central to our lives right now.
This is what it means to be doing most of your living and learning in a community rather than being separated from it.
Inhabiting the streets, buildings and wild spaces of a place means that when this place is broken, healing ourselves also necessarily means taking part in healing our community; the land, the people and all the cement and metal and wood and brick in between.
And we are so very grateful for this sense of belonging and commitment.
We head down to the gaping wreckage of our main street regularly through the week.
We continue any number of our current projects in the public spaces of the temporary cafes -anything that is open can do with the business - or we just walk and look and stop and chat.
As we turn towards winter and enter into the shortest days it seems vital that we keep inhabiting our streets and gathering our ideas so that our sense of connectivity and collectivity continue to evolve our plans for the future of our town.
The girls want to be part of that: they are part of that future, and so, although our rhythm quietens and our energy turns inward, we find ourselves each day heading out the door.