Making Memories Between Storms

Sometimes all it takes is one fine hour in the garden

Hello, I’m Claudia, and Happy Quiet Life is where I share my view on the world as a Highly Sensitive Person. You’ll find reflections and stories about slowing down & living simpler, reconnecting with nature, mental health & self-care, books & reading adventures. Welcome!

Golden hour

27 October 2025
After a fierce three-day storm that came with constant rain, I used the first chance to get outside when it finally calmed down, and enjoyed the cool, fresh air and the sun fighting successfully for breaks in the clouds.

Gentle wind on my cheeks, tucking at my hair, a rustling in the leaves that are still clinging on to the trees.

Finding a spot of sunshine amidst the trees.

Nothing calms me down faster than pottering around in the garden.

Doing something with my hands, even if it’s just shredding twigs and and branches from the cut-down lilac tree to fill the compost bin. It’s calming, it’s soothing, it feels like a state of meditation to me.

Listening to the soft calls of the great and blue tits, the excited chilping of the sparrow clan that roams the garden - and noticing loud trumpet sounds from above.

Wait, what?

I lifted my head and looked around. What was that?

I saw nothing at first, but the trumpet sound got closer. It came from the north.

Then I saw them, ten of them, Eurasian cranes (Grus grus) flying south, their call unmistakable. We don’t see them often here, it’s not their usual migration route to France, Spain or North Africa. So I was happy that I got to see them flying over our garden - large, stately, slate-grey, slow, but steady, just remarkable. I would have loved to see them for longer. Maybe there will be more in the next few days and as they announce their arrival quite piercingly, I might be able to rush out again to see more of them.

Eurasian cranes (Photo by Mohamed Fsili on Unsplash)

Who is already back, to my great delight, is the squirrel. It occupied itself with our hazelnut flood for at least ten minutes. Burried some on the lawn, climbed the corkscrew hazelnut tree and frolicked around on the ground doing whatever squirrels do. So cute to watch!

Still with green leaves at the end of October

I’m always amazed to find something new in our small garden.

The heavy rain we had lately apparently provided the perfect conditions for mushrooms that were all over the lawn when I stepped outside today. I was really surprised by the sheer size of some of them.

I don’t know much about mushrooms and would be lost if I had to go on a mushroom foray, but I wouldn’t want to eat them anyway, so I can just marvel at their interesting apperances.

Mushroom party on our "lawn"

31 October 2025
My husband and I sat on the bench overlooking the garden, maybe for the last time this season. The atmosphere was quite different from summer, when the garden is a kaleidoscope of all shades of green and provides plenty of shade.

Today it felt lighter and brighter, yellow dominated. The remaining maple leaves on the tree's branches and twigs, the reed, the fallen leaves on the lawn, a pale sun filtering through the canopy of the maple tree, it made for a quiet, light, joyous mood and I was remembered again why autumn is my favourite season.

This was one of the good hours that will stay with me for long. When the next storm arrives or darkness falls. It's vital to have those kinds of memories and to take the time to make them.

1 November 2025
The next morning, I stood silently on the lawn, facing east to admire the soft, pastel sunrise, listening to an unexpected morning concert of blue tits, great tits, the occasional croak from a jackdoe, the mismatched chatter from the magpie background vocalists, the chatty chilps of the sparrow choir - and the robin as the soloist. (Of course.) Occasionally, the blackbird would join in.

It was as if everyone around gathered for a last concert, celebrating the light and the joy before the cold and the darkness decends. It was incredibly beautiful to witness a birds’ morning concert on the first day of November.

I smiled to myself. I felt warm, comforted and enchanted. It’s moments like these that stay with us for a long time. Outwardly unspectacular, but when you notice them and listen to them, they are all the more enriching inwardly.

When summer and winter connect: cosmos and Christmas rose

Later that day, I stumbled across another unexpected sight. The last cosmos had patiently outwaited the heavy rainfall and took the chance to bloom now. At the start of November.

Whereas the Christmas rose already shows the first budding flowers. Which is early.

It felt like summer and winter connected. Strange, but also soothing. Whatever happens, there will be another season, another time to look forward to, with precious memories for more difficult times.

Gratefulness

I recharged my batteries, took advantage of the calm, and became calmer yourself. And I also mean this quite literally because I’m pretty sensitive to weather sensations. When a storm is brewing and/or in full swing, my heart pounds all the more and I feel dizzy. I enjoy the calm moments in between with all my senses before the next gale rushes in.

When the next storm comes and the heavens open, when the storm whips the treetops and the reeds by the patio, I will stand at my window, look out at the garden and be grateful.

For being able to share my life with the person I love most. For our home. A roof over my head. The small patch of land that is ours.

The trees, bushes and the flowers. The birds that seek shelter in the depth of evergreen trees and hedges. The sky above me and the solid earth below.

The warmth of the heating. Food in the kitchen. Clear, drinkable water from the tap.

A cosy bed and warm clothes.

The opportunity to rest and heal.

Sometimes it just needs a gale to make us see how rich we are and that there’s so much to be grateful for.

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