'Leaves fall, the days grow cold. The Goddess pulls her mantle of Earth around her as You, O Great Sun God, sail toward the West to the land of eternal enchantment, wrapped in the coolness of night. Fruits ripen, seeds drip, the hours of day and night are balanced.' Mabon Sabbat & Lore
The autumn equinox has come and gone. Daylight dwindles; darkness lengthens. Warm blankets, comforting bowls of soup, candles, flickering firelight…a sense of the coming ‘hibernation.’ I love the seasons with their different moods. Spring and summer are light-filled, bursting with energy and new life, while autumn and winter are times of ‘hunkering down,’ reflecting. A pause. I recall the endless summer days, the abundance of nature… My walks. Around the reservoir, watching the water trickle and swirl, tumbling down the fellside. Sitting with my feet in the cool, clear liquid, flexing my toes – refreshing, reviving. Along the seven mile stretch of sand, the sun glittering on the swell. That feeling of space and freedom. The seemingly endless blue. The lace froth left by the receding waves. A gentle breeze ruffling the hair. My walks by the river. Its changing landscape; from the profusion of the spring foliage, new life…to now, autumn, early mists rolling along the water’s surface, frosted stems, diamond webs, glinting in the low sunlight. Each season has it’s own beauty, and now, in autumn, there is such beauty in decay. From the hydrangea mopheads turning papery…rustling, the honesty seed-heads, their small, dark seeds visible. Grasses turning brown, encased in frost and ice, bulrushes bursting, scattering seeds, their insurance for the coming season. Leaves of red, gold, oranges and yellows falling from the trees, crunching underfoot. The fruits of the cycle; jewels hanging, translucent rubies, clusters of juicy berries, burnished conkers of the horse chestnut, those little acorns…
“The long September evening dies in mist along the fields and lanes…” – Arthur Symons
And just as nature plans for the coming spring, this ‘pause’ is a time, not solely for reflecting. The long nights, the ‘slowing down,’ provides an opportunity to look forward, to set objectives and intentions for the next season, the next cycle. The rhythm of creativity.
It seems particularly relevant to be taking stock, as it were, at the moment. Having just participated in last weekend’s Melbourne Festival, my first in-person event for two years, I am taking the time to assess how it went; what worked, what didn’t, how I can make things better etc., etc. Can I just add here, a huge thanks to the organisers for putting on and co-ordinating the festival in what has been, let’s face it, challenging times. Many thanks to everyone who came along to support the event, to those who stopped by for a chat, and to those individuals who made purchases – all very much appreciated. Ridiculous as it sounds, I had forgotten how tiring standing for two days, chatting to people actually is!! There were highs and lows – part and parcel of such events, and although there are other lessons learned, the biggest takeaway is, next time, to remember my metaphorical emotional ‘armour-plating’…..
Creatively I am at the beginning of the loop again – debating whether to push on with my florals, or to go in a different direction. Once upon a time this period doubt, of dithering, would have me worried. Not being able to settle on one particular direction would frustrate me, give me cause for concern. No more – apparently good things come from ‘a mess’!!
So I shall go on with my exploring, taking off on different tangents as the whim takes me, safe in the knowledge that somewhere in this mess, in this ‘scatter-gun’ of experiments, there will emerge a nugget of an idea, a spark and it will carry me down roads I probably hadn’t even imagined…
And I shall continue to walk. Old paths, well-trodden. New paths, beginnings. The chattering in the skies is silent. A lone buzzard patrols, calling plaintively…such a piercing, evocative cry, of stories carried on the air, to be told and re-told. The straw-like stems of the Queen Anne’s Lace bend, the weight of the brambles, laden with fruit, weaving between the stalks, proving too much. The early morning dew, heavy on the grass, creates a shimmering carpet, a blanket of diamonds that sprinkle with each footstep. Dawns bathed in rose sunrises, or wraithed in mist, tendrils whispering along the water…more tales of this landscape.
And each landscape has its own story to tell…
But, if I start to feel too melancholic, I remind myself…
Autumn Oracle 'A sunset sky, and the west wind sighing, A threat of winter . . . The wild gulls crying; Swift flocks of birds to the southland winging; Bare brown boughs in a frenzy flinging Dying leaves that for long were holden, Now drifting, dropping, crimson and golden. The fallen leaves, in uncounted number, Are warmly quilting the wildflowers' slumber; There are buds on the bough...a springtime presage… The birds will return with a lyric message: The wild gull's cry holds a hint of mating, To conquer cold is the hearth fire waiting. The west wind's sighs are of love, not sorrow, And the sunset sky is the sign for tomorrow.' Laura Lee Randall
As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…
Thanks for stopping by!
Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,
Take care,
Cx
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