I live in a small terraced house in the north of England with too many books, a rescued cat called Pip, and a kitchen window that faces east, which means I get the good early light. Most mornings you'll find me there with a notebook and a coffee going cold beside me, writing down whatever the night left behind.
For years I worked in libraries — first shelving, then cataloguing, then quietly running the local-history room, which was my favourite job I've ever had. There's something about handling other people's diaries and letters, the ordinary records of ordinary lives, that changed how I think about writing things down. Most of it isn't for anyone. It's just proof that a day happened, and that someone paid attention to it.
Why this blog exists
I started keeping notes about the moon almost by accident. I was going through a flat, grey stretch a few winters ago, and a friend suggested I track my sleep. I couldn't be bothered with an app, so I just wrote the date, the moon phase, and one honest sentence at the bottom of each journal page. Within a couple of months I could see things I'd never noticed — rhythms in my mood, in my energy, in what I wanted to cook. I'm not here to make any grand cosmic claims. I just found that having a rhythm to hang the days on made me feel less like I was floating.
So this is a place for that: journaling, seasonal living, the small self-care rituals that actually survive contact with a real week, and whatever book I'm currently underlining. I write when I have something true to say and I stay quiet when I don't, which is why the posts arrive when they arrive.
A few things about me
I drink far too much tea. I make bad watercolours of the same three trees. I re-read novels I already know the endings of, on purpose, for comfort. I believe in going to bed early and in the reviving power of a walk you didn't want to take. I am suspicious of any advice that requires you to buy something.
If anything here is useful to you, I'm glad. If you just wanted somewhere gentle to sit for ten minutes, that's the whole point. You're welcome to write to me — I read everything, even if I'm slow to answer, which I usually am.
— Clare