October Light and the Art of Slowing Down

There’s a particular kind of light in Crete this time of year, low, golden and a little wistful. It slips through olive branches and spills across stone courtyards like a memory you didn’t know you’d forgotten.

A mountain goat up an Olive tree

October here doesn’t shout. It lingers. It invites. 

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, the invitation to slow down. Not in the performative, “self-care checklist” kind of way, but in the quiet, almost rebellious act of noticing. The way the sea changes colour by the hour. The way a story idea arrives not with a bang, but with a whisper. The way a character’s voice deepens when I stop trying to control it. 

As a writer, I often chase momentum—word counts, deadlines, launch plans. But this week, I’ve been letting the season set the pace. I’ve been walking more. Listening more. Letting the next chapter of my novel unfold like a conversation rather than a command. 

And you know what? The story is better for it. More textured. More human. 

So today’s post is a gentle nudge, for you and for me. To let October do what it does best, soften the edges. Slow the breath. Remind us that creativity isn’t always about pushing forward.

Sometimes it’s about pausing long enough to let the light in. 

Have a good week, 

Love Helen x