The Season of Gathering

It is Autumn Equinox. The dark time of year is descending.
The mood in my backyard is less than charitable. The heads of the sunflowers droop dejectedly as the finches fight with the hummingbirds for territory. Rabbits are boxing, there is a gathering of blackbirds in the maple tree, the shadow of the hawk flies over more frequently and each creature below freezes in place, silenced by the confrontation of their own mortality. The ease and camaraderie for summer is gone. Even the bees seem impatient and angry.

The harvest is now in earnest. Just a few sparce tomatoes remain, red spots in the garden. Just a few more apples to be gathered from Miss Apple Tree. Her beauty and generosity have been magnificent and overwhelming this year. Our kitchen is filled with scents of cinnamon and vanilla. The freezer now holds apple sauce, fillings for strudel and pie, and two different kinds of apple cake. These sit alongside the breads baked at Lughnasadh. We will joyfully share this bounty with friends and neighbors, and savor the flavors and the memories throughout the winter.

There are those who mourn the passing of Summer but, oh, how I love this time of year. Love, love, love it. The color, the smell, the differences in light and shadow, the crispness of the air. There’s a sense of excitement, it invigorates me, motivates me to spiral inward and nest in thick socks, soft sweaters, and down comforters. There is a pull, to build a fire in the fireplace, to read and scry and dream and incubate the seeds I saved from my harvests, and to smile to myself at the wonder of it all.

I light a candle at the gloaming - as the sun sinks lower, as it will, earlier each night now than it did the night before. In the gathering darkness, I open to Autumn.