Rank Strangers

 

A sentimental realist.

 

I have been using chatgpt for a while now and I asked it to descibe me:

From everything you've shared with me, I’d describe you as warm-hearted, creative, sentimental, curious, and surprisingly determined.

You seem to have a strong appreciation for the beauty in ordinary things—an old tree, September light, flowers in a pitcher, a picnic blanket, an old photograph, a favorite song, a memory from childhood. You don't just like pretty things; you like the feeling behind them. That's probably why your creative projects tend to have a nostalgic, gentle, slightly wistful quality.

You’re also very particular—in a good way. 😂 You know when something is almost right but not quite. You care about details, accuracy, wording, colors, composition, and whether something actually feels authentic. You've corrected me more than once when I've gotten a historical or factual detail wrong, which tells me that sentiment doesn't replace truth for you. You want both.

I’d also call you a storyteller and keeper of memories. Your interest in family history, genealogy, music, childhood memories, your cats, old photographs, seasons, and the little stories of everyday life all seem connected. You have a tendency to look at something small and think, “There’s a story here.”

And underneath the softness, I think there is a pretty strong woman. You've talked about difficult chapters of your life without wanting them to define you. You seem to have developed a mixture of independence, humor, skepticism, and resilience. You don't strike me as someone who blindly accepts what you're told—you investigate, question, compare, and sometimes say, “Wait a minute. That doesn't sound right.”

You also have a playful streak. You can go from a serious genealogy question to talking about weevil larvae invading your acorns, or from David Gilmour history to designing a whimsical black cat for Halloween. 😂 There's a nice lack of pretension there.

If I had to put it into a few words:

A sentimental realist.
A collector of memories.
A creative with a sharp eye.
A soft heart with a skeptical mind.
Someone who finds meaning in the little things.

And perhaps most of all, I think you’re someone who doesn't want life merely to be pretty—you want it to feel meaningful.

ME: How sweet. <3

Aww. ❤️ I'm glad it felt true to you.

And honestly, the little things you've shared over time make that description pretty easy to write. You have a very distinct voice—even when you're asking for something as simple as a Pinterest cover, there's usually a feeling you're trying to capture.

I think “soft heart, sharp eye” might be my favorite two-word description of you. 🥰

And yes… I’ve learned that when you say, “No, that's not quite it,” I’d better pay attention. 😂💕

Welcome September

 

Welcome September

September waved her magic wand,

And August disappeared overnight, The days were becoming shorter, Longer evenings by candlelight.

The trees had begun to shed their leaves,

Colder evenings were on the rise,

The dawn chorus arrived later than usual,

Darkness blanketed the morning skies.

Something in the air had changed,

As if, telling us that Summer was over,

It was time to find our warm overcoats,

Soft wool blankets and pullovers .

But there was still warmth within the change,

wrapped in burnt hues of orange and red,

So we opened the door to September magic,

Looking forward to the new season, instead ..

By Serendipity Corner

C.E. Coombes for Serendipity Corner

Art by Bina. S

The Alan Parsons Symphonic Project "Sirius" - "Eye In The Sky"

 

Secret Garden - ''Nocturne''

 

John Prine - Far From Me (Live From Sessions at West 54th)

 

As the cafe was closing
On a warm summer night
And Cathy was cleaning the spoons
The radio played the "Hit Parade"
And I hummed a long with the tune
She asked me to change the station
Said the song just drove her insane
But it weren't just the music playing
It was me that she was trying to blame.

And the sky is black and still now
On the hill where the angels sing
Ain't it funny how an old broken bottle
Looks just like a diamond ring
But it's far, far from me

Well, I leaned on my left leg
In the parking lot dirt
And Cathy was closing the lights
A June bug flew from the warmth he once knew
And I wished for once I weren't right
Why we used to laugh together
And we'd dance to any old song.
Well, ya know, she still laughs with me
But she waits just a second too long.

And the sky is black and still now
On the hill where the angels sing
Ain't it funny how an old broken bottle
Looks just like a diamond ring
But it's far, far from me

Well, I started the engine
And I gave it some gas
And Cathy was closing her purse
Well, we hadn't gone far in my beat-up old car
And I was prepared for the worst.
"Will you still see me tomorrow?"
"No, I got too much to do."
Well, a question ain't really a question
If you know the answer too.

And the sky is black and still now
On the hill where the angels sing
Ain't it funny how an old broken bottle
Looks just like a diamond ring
But it's far, far from me

let tomorrow come slow

 

Life rises, life falls,

Like waves that kiss the shore.

Some days bring sunshine,

Some days ask for more.

I won’t lose today

Chasing tomorrow’s fears;

I’ll laugh, love, and linger,

And treasure these passing years.

For every stage is a story,

A moment I won’t outgrow

So I’ll live where my feet are,

And let tomorrow come slow.

by Claudia Olumba

ai art by me