I don’t know where August disappeared to. It feels like it slipped through my fingers, leaving behind scattered moments. Maybe I say this every time, but it feels like nothing has happened, yet there's always something going on.

For the most part, August has been about gathering and preserving nature’s bounty. I’ve picked blueberries with both hands, filling the freezer to the brim. We fetched raspberries from E’s family’s summer place in Kainuu, as well as blackcurrants, from which I boiled juice in one go for the dark and cold evenings of winter.

This year, mushrooms have also been hugely popular, and they’ve appeared in noticeably greater numbers than in previous years. The southern droughts haven’t affected us here in the north, and mushrooms are sprouting up like—well, in the rain. I’m not much of a mushroom forager, but with a few reliable choices—boletes, milkcaps, and my new favorite, the blushing wood mushroom—I’ve already filled the freezer with them as well. Besides, I thoroughly enjoy mushroom trips, where finding mushrooms is just a bonus. The main focus is wandering aimlessly through the forest with friends, enjoying snacks, and soaking up the last warmth of August.

A lot happens in nature during August. Suddenly, the light and warmth of July are gone, replaced by misty, crisp mornings, the first fires in the hearth, and wonderfully darkening evenings when you can spot the first stars after summer. In August, I feel like it’s easier to breathe. As the brightest and warmest edge of the light fades and the landscape slowly softens into the warm hues of autumn and misty veils, I feel at home. It might be sad for summer lovers, but I always sigh with relief when summer is finally over.

After summer, the mind returns to the ground, becoming more rooted and focused on earthy matters. Where to get firewood for winter, is there room for one more bucket of blueberries in the freezer, or should we save space for lingonberries and cranberries? How many swans are on the river this morning, preparing for their autumn migration south? How many stars are shining in the sky today? Summer trip plans are replaced by evening bike rides along the village road with the dogs and lying in the forest, now that the mosquitoes have finally disappeared with the summer, and time and patience are no longer spent fighting them.

You don’t need much in a day to feel like you’ve accomplished something. And that’s enough.

I came across a video about a "low energy person." I can’t think of a better Finnish translation for the term, nor do I know if such a thing truly exists, but I immediately recognized myself in it. I take immense pleasure in having things happen—in having people, events, and experiences in life that make me feel like life is real and happening in the moment. I love traveling, hiking, nature adventures, creative projects, and people who enjoy those things, along with the moments shared with them.

However, all of that drains an enormous amount of energy and requires a lot of emptiness in return. Staring out of the window in complete silence. Sometimes it feels silly. Even something as small as a phone call or a meeting lasting a few hours can sap my energy for the entire day and leave me feeling exhausted.

Yes, they can. The feeling is real; I just never believed it before, always rushing ahead until I hit a wall. I’m still learning to recognize this in advance, to listen to myself better, and to take the time and space I need when I need it. If you borrow that time, you often end up paying it back with interest.

I’ve been thinking about how people used to work and build their lives in harmony with the rhythms of light and nature. In the summer, they stayed up through the nights and worked long days to harvest food and store it for winter, and to tackle the tasks that were impossible during other seasons. Yet even in summer, Sundays were reserved for rest, a day set aside entirely for being and relaxing. One day out of seven isn’t much.

When winter came, people gathered in small, dark cottages, working less and on smaller tasks. The remaining free time was spent telling stories, singing, passing down traditional knowledge, and living together. With spring’s arrival and the return of light, a new year began, filled with fresh energy.

Sometimes I feel like saying that things were better in the past. That people knew more and understood how to live differently than we do now. It’s frightening how we rush ahead at a pace that even terrifies the driver, though they might not notice it amidst all the busyness. The body occasionally sends signals that things might not be right, but there are medicines and treatments for that too. We miss what the body is trying to say because it knows and will tell us—if only we have the time and willingness to listen. Too often, we don’t.

I don’t mean to sound negative or alarming. I’m writing this as much to myself as I am to anyone else, as these are the things I’ve been reflecting on. Because I hope that we would listen to ourselves and give ourselves what we truly need. That message takes time and space to be heard and understood. It can feel impossible to allow that time, but in the end, we don’t really have any other options. Everything else will eventually give way if we hit a complete stop.

I don’t wish that on anyone. Least of all myself.

Wishing you a peaceful and mindful end of August, and I’m so glad you’re here ❤️