Letter 11 : A New Chapter, a familiar season

Almost two months have passed since I came back to France. I’m not quite sure where they’ve gone.

There have been lunches that stretched into the afternoon, dinners with family and friends and so many conversations around familiar tables.

Somewhere between catching up and finding my feet again, I also began something new.

Or perhaps returned to something that had been quietly waiting for me.

I started my own business again.

Seasonal food, thoughtfully laid tables, flowers and all the little details that make people feel welcome. Bringing these things together has always felt natural to me.

As this new chapter began to take shape, it made sense to give them a place in it.

I know there will be doubts, slow days and things I’ll have to learn along the way.

There already are. But imagining what I could create brings me a joy that makes me want to keep going, even without knowing exactly where the road will lead.

And while I’ve been busy beginning again, autumn has been settling in.

The colours are slowly changing. Rain finds its way into more afternoons and I find myself drawn to warm cafés, soft jumpers and the thought of something gently cooking at home.

I keep saying this is my favourite season, although I suspect I’ll say the same thing when spring returns.

There’s something about these months. The working week seems to gather speed as the year draws to a close, yet the weekends invite a different rhythm. A long walk among the changing leaves. Something with cinnamon in the oven. Watching the rain from inside, then finding yourself running through it on the way to the cinema.

Nothing particularly extraordinary. Just the sort of days I’m always glad to have lived.

Friends in Oslo tell me they’ve already seen a little snow. I still check the weather there more often than I need to. I couldn’t quite tell you why. Perhaps it’s a small way of keeping in touch with a place.

Nine degrees and rain and suddenly I’m remembering this time last year : my first autumn in Norway, when even an ordinary walk could feel like a discovery. I noticed everything with the curiosity of a ten-year-old. The light, the trees, the unfamiliar rituals of a season I thought I already knew.

I’d like to keep some of that here.

To notice the light on a familiar street.

To take the longer way home because the trees are beautiful.

To remember that there are still things to discover in a place I’ve known for years.

Of course, the world finds its way into these days too. The news, in France and elsewhere, can feel heavy and sometimes I wonder what lies ahead. I don’t always know how to stay informed without carrying that worry into everything else.

So I’m trying to leave a little room to breathe.

To care, while also protecting the part of me that still believes in kindness, peace, fairness and respect.

To make room for joy and to offer a little of it where I can.

Perhaps that’s part of what draws me back to the table, too. Being together. Making someone feel welcome. Taking the time to listen.

I hope that, wherever this letter finds you, you are safe and that these days hold a few gentle moments for you. And if things feel a little heavy, you’re always welcome to write. I’d be glad to listen.

Until the next letter, ✨

Camille