Purple Pages

November 5th — Somewhere along a misty forest path, I understood that readiness grows only when you take the first step.

November 2nd — The rain tapped softly against the window. Somewhere in London, someone was putting the kettle on.

October 31st — Quiet October afternoon, soft light through the window. Not searching. Just remembering.

October 29th — Today it happened again — that small, quiet moment when the outer world echoed something I had just been thinking.

October 27th — A quiet October evening, rain tracing the window. Something in me feels softer tonight, as if another layer I once needed has quietly begun to fall away.

October 26th — A quiet Sunday morning, tea steaming in the cup. Something in me has been reaching for depth again.

October 22nd — The air smelled of pine and earth, and beneath the quiet trees I realized — I was home.

October 16th — A golden leaf landed at my feet this morning, and as I stood there with my coffee, I realized how much I needed that quiet reminder to let go.

October 14th — On a quiet evening walk I remembered how healing once took me to the darkest places, not to punish me, but to show me the parts that were still asking for love.

October 5th — Sipping lavender tea and crumbling lemon curd biscuits, I'm quietly back in London again.