Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.

Ragnhild Jevne, Dioni Tabbers and Margaryta Senchylo photographed by Azim Haidaryan for Velvet, October 2009

It's getting a little colder and I'm feeling distinctly autumnal and forest-y. 

But other than that, I'm also feeling guilty. 

Once again, I've been horribly neglectful and inconsistent with posts. But this isn't exactly unusual, is it? I am neglectful and inconsistent. Always. It's like being born ginger or getting a really bad tattoo. I'm just stuck with it.

When I was little, from about the age of six, I loved the idea of having a diary. I wanted to be that girl that writes every single day about all the exciting things that have happened to her. Of course nothing hugely exciting happened to me when I was six, and if anything remotely interested came up, I wanted to be off doing it rather than writing about it in a pretty notebook. And I had a million pretty notebooks. All with about two diary entries in them, before I got bored or gave up and wanted to start over again in another pretty notebook. 

And evidently, not much has changed. Now I have a pretty blog, instead of a pretty notebook. 

And I manage to sit still and write just about as often as I did when I was six.