Welcome to the ghoulies and the ghosties
and the spirits
of ancestors long since dead,
and welcome to those who remember them as if they are still here.
Welcome to oranges and golds
and to wood smoke and sunsets and the chill in the air
that reaches your bones and your toes.
Welcome to October,
to the darkening of the year,
to traditions and tales to tell and moments of reflection.
Welcome, welcome, to the ancient
Month of Stories.
Sit for a spell and take your share.
It’s different here,
this season’s change –
the slant of the light
and the smell in the air –
brighter, milder, wilder,
like something ancient, fierce and dangerous
but constant and controlled.
I’ve always said nature is a woman.
I can feel it, even now,
in the cool night air
and the subtle shift in the evening light,
and in the gentle way the leaves seem to sigh
and say,
“We are tired, and ready to let go.”
As one season waves goodbye
and another prepares to cross the threshold,
I breathe it in and wait,
and know:
All things come in their own time.
All around, I hear it:
The hum of new life –
of growing things,
buzzing and flying,
a gentle flap of beating wings,
the stir of wind through the blossoms –
this song that each year nature sings.
It seems that here,
in a season and a blur,
no more than a blink,
we are suddenly,
all of us,
ready for spring.
Winter whispers
through the fields
and the forests,
breathes new life
into the silver moon,
soft and steady and still.
Only a tingle of ice,
a mist of frost
in the air,
It says:
Not quite time,
no,
not yet there,
but soon.
Almost gone, your leaves
Fallen and caught by the wind
You know what’s coming
It seems to have happened overnight, though I know it didn’t: We woke up this morning, and just like that, our birch tree is ready for winter. It always makes me a little melancholy, watching a season end. But I love winter, and hopefully this year, we’ll have some snow.
There are still plenty of colorful leaves on some of our other trees, so we’re not quite there yet. But winter is certainly on its way, y’all.
I feel it in the cool morning air. I see it in the subtle turning of the leaves. I am ready.
*Also a quick note: If you commented on my last post, I wanted to say a very heartfelt thank you. I have been overwhelmed and so appreciative of the outpouring of love, support, and kindness, and once again at the number of women who have shared their own stories with me. Thank you, thank you. Your sweet words and caring thoughts have made this dark and painful time a little brighter. I am grateful for you.*
What’s left
when the leaves
have fallen
and the grass
has gone fallow?
Once the air’s grown cold
and the night sky’s shifted,
once the frost has
come and covered
the hills and meadows,
what’s left to us
in this new
season of darkness?
To rest, to sleep,
to build a hearth fire,
to watch it snow.
To breathe deep and
release a sigh out
among the coming
winter winds.
These belong to us,
are made for us and
left to us by the maiden
and the mother and the crone.
Just as it begins
when new things grow
in a world made bright,
the old year ends
quiet and star light,
with a gentle
and a loving
letting go.
It’s mid-July. This is usually about the point in the summer when I start wishing for cooler days and fall leaves and eventually (my favorite thing) snow. And, yep, we’re here.
It’s hot.
I’m over it.
I’m ready for a little relief from the 90+ degree heat (Fahrenheit) we’ve been dealing with. Not that hot compared to some places, I know, but pretty much a heatwave here in Virginia.
So, I spent today being a sweaty, grumpy mess, looking at pictures of all the wintry places where we’ve traveled.
Iceland.
Alaska.
Another Iceland. This is the beach I’d like to be sitting on right about now.
I love all the seasons, really, and I don’t think I could live in a place where there’s no variety in the weather. I appreciate that Virginia has a cool, crisp fall, a (sometimes) snowy winter, a temperate spring, and a very summery summer.
I’m just not feeling it right this minute. Which is fine. It just gives me an opportunity to daydream about snowy days. And they’ll be here soon enough.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 