Autumn day of stillness – rain and love. Early morning coffee, a gentle candle flame and memories of grandmother and great-grandmother set the tone for a day filled with quiet reflection and everyday warmth.
Read this post in Swedish ->Höstdag i stillhet – regn och kärlek i vardagen
Morning light and a quiet start
Autumn day of stillness – rain and love frames my early morning. It is 5:22 a.m. when the coffee sends up its fresh aroma and warms my hands as I write. I have lit my grandmother’s wall lamps on her small sideboard where photographs of the grandchildren stand. The soft glow falls across their faces, as if the furniture itself wants to watch over those we love.
Beside the lamps, a small live candle burns gently. Its steady flame keeps me company and adds warmth to the dark dawn.
Inside this sideboard my grandmother and great-grandmother meet. In life they never fully agreed, yet here they rest side by side. My grandmother’s little ornaments remind me of her, and between them lie my daughter’s drawings and family photos. This also brings back memories of my great-grandmother’s own sideboard – with a big clock that chimed every half and full hour and photographs of her children and grandchildren.
This morning it feels clear: both of these women live on in me. Two strong, loving presences whose memory deepens my day.
The cat has already slipped out into the darkness. Because more rain is expected, we may choose to stay home. We had first thought of a weekend trip with the motorhome, but a rainy weekend feels less inviting. Instead, it seems wiser to settle into autumn at home – stocking up on candles, cooking food that smells of comfort, and perhaps lighting the first fire of the term in the wood-burning stove.
Autumn day of stillness – rain and a rhythm of care
Yesterday unfolded at the gentle pace that only rain can bring.
Our little one came home in the middle of the school day – soaked from recess – to change clothes. We laughed at how wet they were, wetter than after any washing machine cycle. So we put them in a bucket to drip dry, and then he returned to school warm and dry again.
It felt precious to welcome him home, even for a brief moment. Such everyday care carries so much love.
A city errand and hidden stories
Later we drove into town. He had things to do, and I used the time to enjoy a sunbed and pick up groceries. When I was done, he still wasn’t finished.
Therefore I stopped, hungry, at Charli Chaplin for a kebab plate. It was edible but far from memorable. Having once run a small food stand myself, I could taste potatoes that had stayed too long in the warmer, meat past its peak and watery tomatoes.
While waiting, I sat in the car knitting and watching people move at their own speed. An elderly lady parked in front of me and then drove away. I wondered: When I reach her age, will I still dare to drive? What does her day look like, and who waits for her at home?
Right there, in the quiet of the car, a feeling of tenderness for all the stories of life opened up – the ones we know and the ones we can only guess at. Every person carries a story, in both light and shadow, and simply telling it has its own worth.
Autumn day of stillness – when sorrow makes room for love
Often when I write, a note of sorrow slips in. Perhaps because sorrow is always nearby – a gentle background between chaos and order.
My own sorrow at feeling set aside sometimes stirs. It cuts and hurts, but I let it guide neither day nor heart. Some days are heavy, yet more and more often I return to this truth:
another person’s actions can never measure my worth.
And within that sorrow lives so much love – for my grandchildren, and for our little one who is learning to trust. He knows that when things do not turn out as planned, he can always come home. When he says, “Carina, we need to talk,” I hear a longing for comfort and warmth. He wants to feel that someone listens and understands, someone who stands on his side and can say:
“It’s okay, I hear you. You wished for something else, or you feel… You need this moment. Sometimes life is like that. We will find a way together.”
That love – to truly be there and to listen – carries me through the days.
Between the lines – my voice
This post speaks about letting love hold steady even while sorrow remains. It is about carrying one’s roots in the heart – grandmother and great-grandmother, their scents and memories – and about passing the same warmth to the next generation.
AHA – between the lines
In the simple things hides the depth of life: cooling coffee, a bucket of wet clothes, an old sideboard and a small candle. Each shows how love moves silently through generations, enriching even rainy days.
Your Voice: Between the Lines
Between the lines is an invitation:
Pause. Breathe in the coffee’s aroma. Remember those who carry you. Allow joy and sorrow to share the same space.
It whispers that none of us must walk alone through life’s shifting seasons.
FAQ text – Autumn day of stillness
This post belongs to the collection Reflection & Self-Healing.
Here I gather writings on how to meet life when it holds both sorrow and love, how to find calm in everyday moments, and how to carry memories forward through generations.
Questions for you, dear reader
- How do you find calm on a rainy day?
- Which women or ancestors do you carry with you in your heart?
- How do you offer comfort when someone says, “We need to talk”?
Reflection
Yesterday’s rain offered a slow rhythm. This morning I feel gratitude for quiet moments, for my family, and for the women who showed me that love is something you carry within – never something that runs out.
Yesterday has already found rest in history, tomorrow waits ahead. But right now – this is where life happens.
Support my writing
Links to weave in
- Internal: Moon and the Eclipse 2025
- Internal: A mother, grandmother – and everyday anchor
- External: SMHI weather forecast
