Festival Of The Wheat Harvest

Today is Lammas, the festival of the wheat harvest, and the first of the various celebrations that mark the Autumn in northern European cultures.

For me on this lush and wet and hot day, the first hint of the season that everything changes, nothing remains the same, all of time rushes on…

I gather one of the interesting mysteries for physicists is the question why time seems to run in one direction. I also know there are those who claim otherwise.

But, for us, for human beings on this little planet spinning around a middling star at the edge of one of a hundred zillion or so galaxies, time runs one way.

So every birth brings with it a death.

So the summer, so lazy and glorious, brings with it an end.

For me in the moment,

This moment.

This noticing becomes

A calling to the preciousness

of each thing

in its own time.

Birds of various sorts flitting around the feeder outside the window where I sit.

A squirrel scolding a crow for some offense I can’t discern.

The tree in front of me heavy with green, pregnant with the life of the world…