Autumn
It is nothing short of stunning.
Summer is gone, and it has made a grand exit. A last gust of warmth is embracing us, but on the breeze I smell smoke, leaves, turned earth, and the scent of the corn that was dropped in the fields at harvest. There is a crispness to the evening breeze that is not so much chilling as refreshing. And the colors! The soybean fields have turned from green to gold, the cornstalks are the color of sand, and the trees are hanging on to various greens even as they try on trimmings of reds and oranges. The lake is tuning from silver to a dark smoky blue, and the colors of the sky at sunset and dawn are endless.
As Summer dies, her last breath gives first breath to Fall.
To me, Spring belongs to the Lady, in all its fertile possibility. The Summer is their shared effort, the rewards of life coming forth from love. Winter belongs to no one - time out of time, for rest and rejuventation. But Autumn belongs to the Lord so completely. He will die soon, the blood sacrifice that will bring forth winter, and he knows his time is near. He will die in splendor and beauty and strength. He is no wimpering old man, but a proud warrior who will die with his head high and beautiful.
So much of the year, I am a Follower of Yeshua. I mark the time carefully, meaningfully, and my heart does bleed at his sacrifice in the Spring, even as it rejoices in the rise of feminine mysteries. But at this time, I am truly a child of the earth, too. I follow the rhythms. In the Spring, I feel the jubilation of the mother's rise, but also so keenly the pain of her loss. In the Spring, I feel my femininity so sharply. But in this time, the Autumn, I feel in myself so keenly the warrior, proud and strong, I feel the Animus willing to rise. In the Spring, I feel my gentle, giving sexuality; but in the Fall, I feel the need to take to myself all pleasure I can, for it will soon be gone. I am easily roused to all lusts; for food, for wine, for music, for the warm pleasures of the flesh.
I crave right now. I am gathering to myself good winter foods. My hands are skillfully making breads and pies. And how I crave wine so specifically! The sweet fruity ones, the crisp sharp ones, the ones that are deep and bitter, so like chocolate or even blood. I want them all, not for the drunkenness, but for the richness, the luxurious smell and feel of them in my mouth, and the precious seconds that they linger just after I swallow.
We marked the time of year with a ritual for Mabon on Friday night. I was taken so completely that I know not what I said. I felt my coven so keenly, though we are so far apart. I specifically sensed my friend the Summoner, and my teacher, and my friend Shadow. I could hear their heartbeats and see their smiles. I hope they heard me, too.
I am in love with the Earth right now. I know it's a fleeting affair and it will pass; it will die, hard and cold, with our first real winter in many years. But it hurts so sweetly that it is eclipsing other pains I thought would never heal, lost loves I thought I would never recover from. I may still feel them yet; and then again, I may not. I don't know what the future has for me, but for now, with no hopes I also have no fears. The end is nigh, and with my god of grain, I welcome it.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
Summer is gone, and it has made a grand exit. A last gust of warmth is embracing us, but on the breeze I smell smoke, leaves, turned earth, and the scent of the corn that was dropped in the fields at harvest. There is a crispness to the evening breeze that is not so much chilling as refreshing. And the colors! The soybean fields have turned from green to gold, the cornstalks are the color of sand, and the trees are hanging on to various greens even as they try on trimmings of reds and oranges. The lake is tuning from silver to a dark smoky blue, and the colors of the sky at sunset and dawn are endless.
As Summer dies, her last breath gives first breath to Fall.
To me, Spring belongs to the Lady, in all its fertile possibility. The Summer is their shared effort, the rewards of life coming forth from love. Winter belongs to no one - time out of time, for rest and rejuventation. But Autumn belongs to the Lord so completely. He will die soon, the blood sacrifice that will bring forth winter, and he knows his time is near. He will die in splendor and beauty and strength. He is no wimpering old man, but a proud warrior who will die with his head high and beautiful.
So much of the year, I am a Follower of Yeshua. I mark the time carefully, meaningfully, and my heart does bleed at his sacrifice in the Spring, even as it rejoices in the rise of feminine mysteries. But at this time, I am truly a child of the earth, too. I follow the rhythms. In the Spring, I feel the jubilation of the mother's rise, but also so keenly the pain of her loss. In the Spring, I feel my femininity so sharply. But in this time, the Autumn, I feel in myself so keenly the warrior, proud and strong, I feel the Animus willing to rise. In the Spring, I feel my gentle, giving sexuality; but in the Fall, I feel the need to take to myself all pleasure I can, for it will soon be gone. I am easily roused to all lusts; for food, for wine, for music, for the warm pleasures of the flesh.
I crave right now. I am gathering to myself good winter foods. My hands are skillfully making breads and pies. And how I crave wine so specifically! The sweet fruity ones, the crisp sharp ones, the ones that are deep and bitter, so like chocolate or even blood. I want them all, not for the drunkenness, but for the richness, the luxurious smell and feel of them in my mouth, and the precious seconds that they linger just after I swallow.
We marked the time of year with a ritual for Mabon on Friday night. I was taken so completely that I know not what I said. I felt my coven so keenly, though we are so far apart. I specifically sensed my friend the Summoner, and my teacher, and my friend Shadow. I could hear their heartbeats and see their smiles. I hope they heard me, too.
I am in love with the Earth right now. I know it's a fleeting affair and it will pass; it will die, hard and cold, with our first real winter in many years. But it hurts so sweetly that it is eclipsing other pains I thought would never heal, lost loves I thought I would never recover from. I may still feel them yet; and then again, I may not. I don't know what the future has for me, but for now, with no hopes I also have no fears. The end is nigh, and with my god of grain, I welcome it.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.