The Season We Slow

There’s a moment — right before the wind begins to turn — when everything softens. The sun, though still warm, feels less urgent. The days begin to hush, just a little. It is not yet fall, but no longer the wildness of high summer. This is the in-between.
And we slow.

We find ourselves lighting candles again — not for light, but for ritual. We reach for bowls instead of plates, cardigans instead of cotton. The world doesn't demand it, but our bodies begin to shift, preparing. Listening.

At The Ferne, we pay attention to these liminal spaces. Where a season sighs. Where memories swell like warm tides.
This is when we begin to ask:

What is still serving us?
What is ready to be released?

The Ferne isn’t a place of answers, but of pauses. This season, may we savor the silence between the words. May we collect the golden light, let go of the rest, and prepare — quietly — to begin again.