In my local time zone, the true cross quarter – the exact midpoint between the last equinox and the upcoming solstice – occurred last night at 22:56/10:56pm. By my calculations, that made last night Samhain Eve, and today the first day of Winter.
Here in my new residential corner of the world, Summer ended long ago. Autumn has ruled these many weeks since Mabon.
And now Winter has come.
Had the skies been clear last night or tonight, I might have seen the Aurora Borealis over the lake. Clouds insist on hiding the Northern Lights, but oh! the wind is winter-scented, and last night was nearly freezing! 10C / 340F!
I call that cold. I imagine locals call it “brisk”.
I hate to miss a holiday post, so I’ve been writing like mad in the wee hours these last two nights.
This is not that post.
Tonight, the magic of celebrating Samhain with family is too precious. Tonight, the joy of feasting on wild venison (from my backyard woods) and pomegranate (from a California nephew’s tree), on sage-oil roasted squash, the most delicious cabbage-radish-apple slaw ever, and old-recipe spice cake is too sweet. Tonight, the company of my beloved dead is too rare and comforting a pleasure to dispel, interrupt, or abandon for real-deal, real-world reflections on the state of the world.
My dearest friend I’ve never met sent this poem to me the other day. I’ve re-read it every day since – it goes straight to the heart of me. Perhaps it will find a place in yours, too.
May your ancestors watch over you tonight and every night. And may all the blessings of the season be yours.
Brisk. I love it! As I type, the rain is sluicing down, and will continue into tomorrow. There are rainfall warnings for the east coast, so we’ll do well to escape the consequences of all that water, especially as it falls onto already sodden land. So no crisp, bright Winter woodland walks over here, alas. Just have to hunker down and wait it out ’til Spring comes, and I can refresh my own personal wildflower lexicon with Lesser Celandines, Wood Anemones and carpets of Ramsons. Mind how you go. :-)
Thank you, Declan, your wildflower lexicon had me running for my botanical encyclopedia. Lovely imagery, lovely way to start the day (out here in rainy California).
My pleasure. Happy to report we have not been washed away… yet!
This seems an appropriate time and place to mention that the marvelous poem that graces this brief post is courtesy of the not-yet-washed-away Mr. Declan Kenny.
It was that Mr. Kenny, I do believe, who enlightened me on the geographical reasons the Emerald Isle is so lovely to view and so gosh-durned soggy underfoot. Built like a bowl Ireland is, he told me. Rising at the rim, and all downhill from there. Add incessant rain — like pouring milk over the #1 “gets soggy fastest” cereal: Cinnamon Toast Crunch(tm).
Ah, you’re very kind. I was hoping to remain anonymous :-)
Of course, the poet is the real treasure here.
And yes, Ireland is something of a saucer. But the topography only tells half the tale: the endless jug of milk that soddens our cereal is courtesy of the prevailing winds blowing over about 2,000 miles of the Atlantic Ocean. An endless supply of rain to make the grass green and our hair rusty (Irish redheads are just rusty; little-known fact).
And so now seems like an apt time to raise my own (Cinnamon) toast to my favourite American fantasy writer. Sláinte!
Wow Risa, how haunting while painfully real are the words of that poem! Thank you for your letter. May our ancestors rejoice in the hereafter together around us till we meet again. Sending love, appreciation and long hugs, Courtney.
Wow, Courtney! You’ve just clarified something that was hovering on the edges of my awareness, but I’d have missed entirely, if not for your comment. The poet’s words evoke images that are tangible. Sensory. Visceral. But the tale those images tell is a ghost story. “… haunting while painfully real ..”
Brilliant!
Thanks so much! Boomeranging that love back to you, and may your good wishes for our ancestors manifest a thousand-fold.
Salmon has been acutely present for me this year with the passing of several deer ones in my life and many dreams of times in the spirit world with those who have passed.on a more personal level illness in this last week has also had me thinking of my own mortality, not that I’m deathly ill, but just a deeper recognition that I am just not getting any younger. Ahhhh and that many of my dear ones are also not getting any younger so it’s been a very poignant time for me. Thanks for your reflections Risa. I love you dearly and. Hope maybe in this next year to be able to visit your new home . Many blessings
Reading your comment put me in mind of our Samhains past … all of us dressed in our witchy finery, making new fire, casting the circle, your delicious baked apples, some ritual fun (gourd carving or masks, poems or dancing, music or stories) to call our friends and family home for the feast.
Inevitably, you and I would be last awake, waxing lyrical on the mysteries of the season by the fire’s dragon-log embers.
Seems some mysteries are reserved for Crones, my dear. Heightened awareness of our own mortality is decidedly one of them. A gift? I suppose, though part of me argues that ignorance is bliss ;)
Love you too. And yes! This year will bring you here! Nuestra casa es tu casa, amiga mía.
Thank you for your beautiful worlds Risa! I just read them sitting in the Berlin Subway, the city I call my home now and they warmed my heart. I wish you a lot of earth to grow your roots in your new home! This year I held a public Samhain Ritual here and am ao grateful we share the same celebrations even if we’re living across the ocean! Sending Love, Mira
How true, and how wonderful! We are an ocean and more apart, yet we dance and sing under the same moon and stars and celebrate the changing seasons together. I must learn more about the ritual you held! Knowing you, I know it was absolutely marvellous! Oh, to have been there!
Berlin! I’m so glad you found a place that suits you, and Berlin is lucky to have you ;)
My Samhain wish for you, dear Mira — may the wisdom and creativity of your most magical ancestors fill your dreams at night and inspire all your days.
Sending big love back at ‘cha.
This poem so utterly articulates the writer’s evolution of experiences that have led them/her/him to an ultimate understanding of the way parts construct a whole—and why it is so meaningful that they do. It also invites its readers to reflect on this process in their own lives.
At the end, two more personal, evocative experiences were brought immediately to mind: the ravage by fire of your own home and the way my youthful self rooted in my grandparent’s soil for melted glass artifacts of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and engulfing fire. Truth.
More Truth: “What doesn’t in time enter grief’s lexicon?”
I adore this poem and I adore you.
I wish us all a joyous and healthy New Year!
Yes, yes, yes!
At first, I was rapt in the poet’s deft intertwining of past and present, in the truth their words made manifest — that any innocuous, everyday sensory experience might, in fact, be an arrow that wings ruthlessly into a holes carved into our heart by the death of someone we love. At the end, though, as you say, the poem that had already spoken for me seemed to speak OF me and of the fire that took our home. That it spoke to you of your past as well … guess that’s what great poems do, eh?
Adoring you back – Blessed Be and Happy New Year!
Three weeks ago I was in New England. I am pleased it was only brisk even by my West Coast standards. I understood that I was lucky it was thus. I don’t envy you the winter temperatures you are going to face in your new home. Sending you warm thoughts.
New England was probably past its full autumnal glory? Theirs hits before ours, and ours is half-way to bare-branched winter already.
This weekend is brisk. Monday is predicted high of 35F/1.7C, low of 26F/-3.3C and SNOW.
Great chance to test all the winter gear I’ve been stockpiling. So … yay?
I’ll leave the first comment.
Apologies – I didn’t realize till after I’d published that it was already the 8th. The eves and days I refer to in the post are November 6th (Samhain Eve) and November 7th (Samhain Day).