macbr0-0

[macbr0-0]

A pair of corvids are observed perched silently atop a street light during a misty morning in coastal California. ♡

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]

"It is less than a week since the autumn equinox. At this time, light and dark are equal and we are supposed to be in balance. I have never felt more restless. The change is palpable. You can taste it on the air. The light shifted before the season did bringing with it a honey hued softness to things. Birds changed their songs (if they even sing at all) and insects are still buzzing about but it is less lighthearted than it was in the bright summer days. The bees buzz along with a frantic energy now, and I can't help but feel a pang of sadness when I catch a glimpse of a stray butterfly. The music of the crickets takes over trying to ease us mortals into the winter slumber to come. Leaves begin to drift quietly downward reminding us that yes, we are in this season of letting go. Yet my heart flutters sometimes with.... what? Panic? Anticipation? Apathy? Fear? All of them so that I want to bathe in all the warm, golden glory that is Fall and forget. Yet there is a companion with me that will not allow me to wallow for she is a harsh mistress.

There has always been an undercurrent of something darker during this time of year. The veil is thinning and it's no surprise that many spiritual paths recognize that. I too have come to know the name of this, and she is beautiful and sad at the same time. It's Death that I see in the changing light. Death in the slow-moving wave of the crazy morning glories that are taking over my garden. The sunflowers have been stripped bare by the squirrels and it is Death that rakes her sharp claws over the flower head to scatter the seeds below. It is Death that touches my hair with her long cold fingers as I stop for a moment to look up at the winking stars in the sky while taking out my trash. Death blows her soft, cool kiss through our open windows singing us a lullaby of peace.

I am surprised that I can recognize her in the radiant gown that she now wears. No longer is she dressed in a sullied cloak made from sharp things when I first met Her. Glass and weathered stones. Thorns and gnarled roots. Barbed wire and brambles circling her heart. Her steps are lighter now. She no longer stomps about making her presence so loud and crashing through every window I have left open. No. She steps tenderly these days. Gingerly making her way through the paths that I have begun to clear and steps tenderly over things I have left behind. She whispers instead of screeching at me now and I can hear the music in her voice. In the birds. In the wind that rustles the leaves along the ground. Her voice is a bit scratchy still, but it doesn't pain me to hear it anymore. She trips sometimes...on my route as she follows because I forgot to clear away a rock or there was a hidden root that found her large foot and she will curse me for it. I'm not mad at her anymore and turn around to help her back up. I wouldn't say that we are friends but companions, as She is to all things. We've just veiled Her face so that to speak her name is a curse. We are hushed into silence. But This is Her season, and She will remind me that inside the Quiet there is Life."

-Lois Tilley Wininger

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]

Dunkeld, by Kyle Bonallo (ig: @kylebonallo)

[macbr0-0]

© Nona Limmen {Via Instagram}

[macbr0-0]

James Webb Space Telescope – Pillars of Creation (Image credit: NASA, ESA, CSA, STScI, J. DePasquale (STScI), A. Pagan (STScI))

[macbr0-0]

Roberto Ferri: “L’amore, La Morte, e Il Sogno (Love, Death, and the Dream)”, Detail. Oil on Canvas, 2017

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]

Figures at work in a winter landscape, an approaching storm beyond (1859) by Fredrik Marinus Kruseman (1816-1882)

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]

[macbr0-0]