There is a slow sinking that happens when the year turns new, isn't there?
The soft, muted landing after the bright sparkle and lustre of the festive season, the aftermath of the whirlwind of gatherings which we found ourselves at finds us in a tangle on the sofa, amidst groans of don't-want-to's and do-I-have-to's and general resistance to the routine of everyday that must be seen to now, whether we want to or not.
Personally, apart from very little get up and go, I don't mind this time of year. I find it a time of reflection and expectation, equally looking back, and forward, at the same time. A time when getting out and walking seems to be a good way of allowing thoughts and ideas to simmer and process and bloom into something with potential, but also a time when that sofa and fire are just far too comfortable, and the days too short, to inspire anything other than hanging out together and staying warm.
So, a time of opposites, but all very quiet and slow and not at all taxing.
This morning the house smells of cinnamon buns. There is frost on the grass, a slick of ice on the car windows, and as I sit in the warmth, looking out at the pink sky above Bray Head, I find myself coming back once more to that timely idea of resolutions for the new year, of what intentions I would like to set for the coming year, and something that has been floating around and coming in to land every so often, for over a year now, has finally come home to roost.
I have decided to take a (permanent) hiatus here.
After six years blogging in this place I call Milkmoon, things in my life have changed so much that I am finding it increasingly difficult to make things fit in here, and to find the means and inspiration to. I have tried to force Milkmoon to evolve with these changes, but the result has left me more and more dissatisfied and uninspired, and now, nine months after leaving the house where this all began, I realise once more, that it is the idea of change that is more scary than the change itself, and it's time to let this go.
I love blogging, and I am not giving it up, but I am letting go of Milkmoon, and I do hope some of you loyal, lovely people who visit here, find something of interest in my new project(s?) when it is up and running properly.
I have met some extraordinarily wonderful, inspiring people through Milkmoon, people who I am honoured to call friends now, and I do hope we stay in touch.
I may pop in here occasionally. I may even open up again, and dust things off, some day in the future. Who knows. But for now, much like leaving our little cottage, I am shutting up shop, leaving behind the ghosts of my small children as they were when this all began, for they too are growing and changing, and to me, more than anything else, the Milkmoon years were all about our life as a family with young children, in our little house by the sea, and one of the things I have found difficult to adjust to, is not really having small children to photograph any more! I got such pleasure out of this, of being around little ones, being inspired by their innocence and the view of the world from their perspective, and a part of me misses it very much. I am in love with seeing what wondrous people they are growing into, loving how this is influencing my interests in other directions, yes, even loving the challenges it brings! At the same time, now that they are older, other parts of my life are being given a chance to develop, and it's very exciting, but feels wrong to introduce it here in this golden, storybook place of magic, of small children and the waving grass, of being Mama and nothing else. That is something I want to preserve here, and so, a new place for new beginnings feels right to me.
I will call in and update with a link to the new place as soon as possible, though I am not sure when that will be. There are a number of different paths opening up right now and I'm not sure where they will lead.
So thank you all, for sharing these years with me, I hope we meet again.
Lots of love from the Garden of Ireland,