I’ve borrowed (stolen, ripped off, plagiarized) the title above from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. The mistress of confessional poetry coined the phrase in reference to another season entirely –
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
– but, for me, her words define autumn’s equinoctial moment perfectly. Tonight and tomorrow, the earth is tilted neither toward nor away from the sun. Light and dark, day and night share this spin of our planet equally. Meanwhile, society, the climate, politics, my personal life, virtually everything else is dancing a tarantella at one extreme or another. Not easy to keep one’s balance on the world’s oddly uneven terrain.
And yet … my spirit is lighter, now autumn is waxing and Mabon is upon us. Sure, society is a mess, politics are hell, the climate is bonkers, and I daresay many of us have reason to contend that “uneven” is far too benign a term to apply to the rocky paths under our feet. On a personal level, my relocation to New York (state) is still a work-in-progress, and establishing continuity of health care remains an elusive dream.
Ah, but the woods that are my backyard have won my heart.
Birds whose songs I don’t know serenade me. Insects churr, buzz, and rattle day and night. The rush of wind in the tall trees makes me smile. Just now, a bird perched on my window screen and did a little percussive riff to get at something in the corner of the window, or maybe under the eave. I want to say it was an American Three-toed Woodpecker, but the Three-toed is super endangered and a very rare sight. More likely, a Downy? Still pretty sweet.
These gifts have put me in mind of a certain poem I’ve long loved. Here, with the author’s kind permission and for your holiday enjoyment …
Tree in My Woods
There is a tree in my woods and
Its sparse branches droop
as my spirits sometimes do
If its leaves were gilt,
they would tinkle,
come any breeze
But they are sere and pliable,
hanging in thin clusters
on the gray limbs emerging from its trunk
The tree is in the heart of the forest
and it is what it is,
fragile and rough
And I am the forest
and I am what I am,
fragile and rough
And when I stir, the tree stirs
And when I rest, the tree rests,
come any breeze
Janet Guastavino
Blessed Be, Happy Mabon, and may all the blessings of the season be yours.
Today should be our last hot day here, it looks like it’ll start to finally feel like fall here. Sometimes you just need to sit out in nature to forget all the bad things going on in the world.
Wishing you a happy Mabon!!
Looks like Sonoma Co went back to warm with another jolt of pretty-dang hot happening tomorrow, then perfect 70s again. Fall here is early, apparently, because the summer was a drought for the usually much-wetter Lake Ontario and Finger Lakes region. Guys who make their livings mowing people’s lawns (lawns are BIG out here) could barely get by; the grasses weren’t needing to get haircuts every week. It was also quite evident that for folks around here, “drought” is a word that applies solely to vegetation. No talk, no hint, not even a thought of anything crazy like water conservation ever entered the convo or anyone’s mind. Guess living next to a giant body of fresh water has muffled Rochesterians’ drought-alarms.
And yes, you got it. Nothing like a hefty dose of Nature to cure (temporarily, at least) the pain and anxiety this technologically careless, economically-unjust, socio-politically insane world foists upon us. Amazing how even a moment of normal-natural — a glimpse of a chipmunk scampering, birdsongs echoing, leaves falling, thunder rolling — can restore our equilibrium.
Autumn arrived here like a stern ward sister, deeply unimpressed with the mess we’d made of the place while the sun was out. She switched off the heating and opened all the windows and let in a chill breeze to smarten up our attitude. I don’t think I like her… I’m missing the sunshine on my skin, long evenings, and skinny dips up at the lake, and it seems like an awful long way away before those days will come by again. Nothing for it but to hunker down and get on with it, I guess. I do love Autumn really; perhaps it’s a feature of age. It explains why folks retire to warmer climes. Good for the bones, and all that! Love to all there from all here.
How very dare she! So rude, when you clearly hadn’t had your fill of sunshine and short sleeves.
And yes, the irony of moving TO a harsh, cold climate FROM a warm, temperate, Mediterranean-type paradise as I hit my mid-70s and Roy heads to 80 is not lost on me. Then again, with Lord Dampnut hastening climate change, Sonoma may yet become a fiery desert and Rochester a temperate lakeside zone within our lifetimes.
It was the sudden turning off of the tap that was the slap in the face, to somewhat mix my metaphors. It’s not unusual to have mild Indian Summers here in September, not least to taunt school-goers returning to their classrooms. Perhaps that too is a taste of climate change.
The world watches with horror as the USA slides into fascism. It’s awful to watch, but no doubt worse to live through it.
The abject misery of having the foundations of our nation C4-ed to smithereens, plunging millions of Americans into a fascist abyss … well, Hieronymus Bosch’s painting “The Apocalypse” captures it beautifully, but I can only find it online in this one guy’s blog post, so here ya go, 2nd painting down: CLICK ME
IMHO, the crux of the horror isn’t Lord Dampnut. Mad tyrants are nothing new. Nor is it Dampnut’s inner circle, though it is the Steven Millers, RFK Jrs, and others who wield real power that scare me most. Nope, it’s the ever-caving colleges, the wimpy-worthless Democratic opposition, and the vast numbers of spineless, elected Republican representatives who would rather gobble up crumbs from a demented dictator’s McDonald’s-laden table than honor their oaths of office, fulfill their obligations to their constituents, and do what’s right for the nation, our allies, and this world that is our home.
And there ya go — the political rant blog I studiously avoided writing on Equinox Eve ;)
So glad the land is offering you comfort and sweetness!
I had perfect trust that I would feel the same wonder and find the same comfort in Rochester Mama Nature’s beauty as I do in all her manifestations. Just couldn’t feel or find enough of it in the unusually hot, humid summer. I’m a sucker for autumn. Hope Colorado’s colors are shining for you this season, too.
Ohhhhh man, autumn in New England is something else. We live in an insanely beautiful part of the world. Settle in with a hot toddy, an apple cider donut, and watch the world erupt into yellows and reds!!!!
Ah, but you get the full New England glory, while I get the western New York State / Lake Ontario poor-cousin fall color effects. Which are pretty dang wonderful.
Apple cider donut? This is a real thing?!? Thanks for the recommendation— I am on it! ;)
Wow! My heart warms with you, hearing the morning birdsong, seeing the forest beginning to prepare for its long slumber. And then two beautiful poems — thanks, Janet and Fionna! What a wonderful way to start the day!
Our shared delight in Gaia’s gifts (and Diana’s?) warms my heart double. <3
How gentle the weather sounds in Janet’s poem, Risa. Thank you.
Our Spring burst upon us,
Not at all gently, but violent and relentless
The wind pounds our windows, shakes loose the early blossom
No blushing brides to dance beneath it today
Daffodils lie prostrate on the cold wet soggy earth, all thought of nodding, fluttering in the breeze
Gone
Rain rains relentlessly
Filling the gutters and gurgling down the drains
Benny has his nose against the window ruffing and grr-ing
I want to do that too
Oh, Fionna, what a gift! Your word-craft paints a fabulous picture of a fierce NZ spring. Reminds me of a spring long gone, when she arrived in Sonoma gowned in delicate apricot, plum, and cherry blossoms — which were all dashed to the ground and crushed in a sudden downpour that ended in hail. Spring weather can be sweet, gentle, and fragrant. It can also be tricksy and ruthless. Thanks ever-so!
Well that was just all kinds of gorgeous. Perfect for Mabon
Too kind :) Hope your Mabon is some kind of perfect too.
Oh my Goddess it’s 97 today…In Petaluma
I’m working on a new song in a gospel vein
What if the Rapture came, and we weren’t called?
What if Jesus said, “You got some gall”?
Work in progress
Oooh! I wanted to ask if you and your Muse were collaborating of late, but asking in a reply-comment to you on my own blog-post didn’t seem quite how to do it. I am thrilled! Not at the temperatures (which, thankfully, have somewhat abated). Thrilled about the work-in-progress :) A gospel-esque, Rapture-raking barb? My Gawd — yes, yes, and Amen!