It’s that time of the year. I can feel it in my bones. A quick glance through the window, closed tight to keep the artificially air separated from the heat and humidity outdoors, still provides a lush green feast to the eyes. But a closer examination, especially if I step outside, reveals the cracks beginning to form in summer’s façade. The leaves of the large trees are beginning to age – some of them even turning brown before slowly spiraling down to the lawn in the absence of any breeze. With the exception of an occasional alarm or territorial call, the birds have ceased their singing. Even the cicadas have lost some of their sense of urgency. Nature seems weary. It’s as though she’s holding her breath and waiting for something.
And so I find myself waiting as well.
It’s coming.
The dark. The cold.
And I’m excited.
First the cool breezes return. September winds usher out the heat and humidity, capping everything with crystal blue skies. The daylight continues to dwindle, and squirrels and chipmunks scatter through the woods in search of food. Geese begin to gather and test their flying abilities, moving noisily back and forth in growing Vs from our nearby nature preserve.
The forest dons its autumnal cloak of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns that never fails to impress even those with a distaste for cooler weather.
My favorite holidays are coming. Mabon kicks everything off with celebrations of the harvest. In our house we enjoy the last of the fresh farm and garden produce, supplemented with new additions of nuts and apples. We have our first fire in the pit on our deck, usually with a warm glass of mulled wine. Then there’s Samhain, tied in my mind with the wonderful childhood experience of Halloween, both from my own youth and that of my sons. Candy and costumes! More fires, more feasts – and eerie seasonal music that enhances the sense that the veil between the living and the dead is being lowered.
Thanksgiving doesn’t actually fall on a pagan sabbat, but resembles in every way a combination of all three harvest sabbats. Yet another reason to celebrate, and this time with non-pagan friends and family. Finally, there’s Yule. Once again childhood experiences of Christmas and winter break feed heavily into my love of this festive time of year. Yule logs, gifts, music, snow, trees, the scent of pine boughs, feasts, and family. It’s a joyous culmination of my three favorite celebrations.
But then the revelries end. And we’re left with nothing but the dark and ourselves in the quiet of the new calendar year. And it’s still growing colder.
I love this time of year as well, but for different reasons.
The excesses and festivities of the preceding months seem to serve as a type of mental preparation for this quiet time of the year. We celebrate our gathered harvests (symbolically, if not in reality in today’s society) and then we hunker down and endure. The cold and the dark provide the perfect time for rest and introspection. Who am I? Where am I in life’s journey? Where will I be this time next year? How have I grown? How can I change? This is an important time because these are vital questions.
As I age, I find myself lying awake more and more during the middle of the night. I used to fight it, and sometimes I still do. But more and more I’ve come to view that time of my day as being equivalent to the dark time of the year. Huddled under a blanket, my mind runs through the most critical, sometimes most frightening, questions I face. The ones that don’t surface in the light of daytime.
More and more I find myself at peace during this dark and cold time of the night. I know the questions. I don’t know most of the answers. I will at some point, or I won’t. The sun will return with its warmth, and the darkness will be forgotten just as it is after the return of spring. So mote it be.
Hopefully I’ll be a better person for having lived through those moments of introspection.
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