I see people in many places turning to the idea of the liturgical year. Your monthly practice, example, deserves wide adoption! September for me, and it gets stronger the further north, when the days shorten faster a gale is blowing us to Equinox; the yearly 3 day precision is always breath-taking. I will be think again of the geese returning to their fields, as I wrote long ago, 'like party-goers on the darkening air'. It will be welcome home again.
PS. Jungian thought has coincided thrice in posts and comment I have skimmed this morning. Too fast for my ole (smile) thinking! You have sent me back to the story, at least in its outline, of Mabon ap Modron, but that is for another time.
Oh, I’m so moved by your reflections on the liturgical year, Philip! Thank you so much. I feel that gale too, even down south, rushing toward Equinox, where the light tips and “the geese return like party-goers on the darkening air” ... lots of deep poetic swooning here!
My year in the woods began on New Year's Day and I visited at least two or three times a month throughout 2018. That practice taught me so much about the rhythms and cycles of nature ... most especially how the body knows what the calendar forgets. In short, it changed my life as I could finally, finally come to know the seasons in such a deep way.
Yes! I wholeheartedly agree: this deserves wider adoption, not as doctrine but as devotion.
And Mabon ap Modron! Yes, yes, the child stolen and restored ... the hidden one whose return marks the turning. I’ve been circling his story too. Hmm, perhaps he’s the one whispering through all these Jungian threads. Yes, let’s return to him soon.
For now, I send you rich September blessings, gale-borne and goose-winged! 🙏🪿🍃
It truly is, Philip ... like leaning into a green silence that remembers more than we do. In pure synchronicity, I'm in dialogue with a tree as we speak. More next week. 🌳✒️💚
Aww, many thanks Dear Poet! Like so many, I ab-soul-utely love this time of the year. 'November' is my favourite poem from my year in the woods. As I shared with Sarah, a dear friend, Canadian, as it happens, very kindly created a video to go with it. Here's the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0bxtCCbGtvk uploaded by Philosopher Muse five years ago. I hope you enjoy, it's just under two minutes long.
Gawd, talking to the tree this week has me reaching for my 'mad poet' t-shirt ... as it's all going a bit all over the place! What began as a poem now feels like ... well, I don't know what! But it's alive, and that's something. Poets eh?! 🙏💖🧙♀️🍂
Thank you for reminding me of this wonderful poem about my favorite season. It makes the changes occurring so much more meaningful. Here in Central Florida we've had a marked drop in temperature over the last week and cooling showers and breezes every evening. We await the return of wood ducks for a possible second brood. Many have been born in the cypress swamp behind our house in early October. For us, September is a time when death and new life meet for a brief moment in the cycle. Jeanie
Dear Jeanie, I just love how you describe September as the meeting place of death and new life. That brief moment in the turning of the Wheel feels especially poignant this year.
Here in the UK, the skies are busy with flocks of birds ... some arriving, some leaving ... as if they’re all making a mad dash before the windstorms and rainstorms begin. It’s a wonder to watch, Lin's forever reaching for her binoculars. I’m not complaining though as we need the rain ... desperately. It’s been a hot summer and my garden still wears the scorch of it.
Sending much love, light and laughter across the oceans between us and deep gratitude for your beautiful reflections. May the blessed wood ducks return and may the cypress swamp cradle new life once more. May it be so. 🧡🙏🍂
As you know, I have a copy of this beautiful compilation of your poetry. Of course your September is our March — so I had to read that one too, for us down South. 😊🙏🤣. The daffodils have sprung.
Simone, thank you so much for reading and for carrying my September into your March! I love imagining your southern spring daffodils rising just as our northern autumn leaves fall.
What a beautiful inversion of the seasons and such a tender echo of shared rhythms. How wondrous, to live in a world where both seasonal events are happening at the same time. 🙏💛🍂
It's pretty amazing — a master design this planet 💛. The daffodils in gardens everywhere and once we hit the country roads, golden wattle everywhere. I do love Spring 💚. Off for an icy embrace this morning. 🌊. Hope you had.a great day.
You've hit the nail on the head, Simone! For I love, love, love how our Planet Blue holds opposites so gracefully ... spring and autumn, summer and winter, light and shadow ... ebb and surge. It’s not just poetic, it’s profoundly wise.
Mother Earth doesn’t resolve duality ... never, She includes it. And maybe that’s the solution we’ve been searching for all along! Not just in ourselves, but in the planet too. I mean the answer's right there, staring us in the face ... and still, somehow, it's easier to judge than to embrace. 🌏🌊🫂
Yes, I think she teaches us to accept duality, we need not use it for manipulation and conflict — she shows us how to accept, release and recover; though she is multidimensional too — and has her collaborators and team about her; look at her union with her moon and cosmic galaxies. and what of her elementals that we can feel. We have some power that we don't know we have — what would I know 🤣 ... what ever it is, it is divine, and in us. Anyway, I was blown about today and tangled with the water sprites on the boogie board — too windy and rough for me to surf. Have a great day 🌊🙏🧚🤍
Oh, Simone how your words shimmer and shine with deep elemental truth! And when I look through those larger eyes that you’ve evoked here ... I can see just how breathtakingly beautiful this world really is!
I mean it's just magickal ... how everything moves in harmony, even the chaos, even the windstorms that tangle with Crone fairies! Just for a moment, I’m held in awe, wonder, beauty and deep gratitude for it all. 🙏🌊🧚♀️
🤣🌊🌀🧚🙏 ... the Crone Fairy copped it 🙌 ... it is so magickal, and yes, gratitude really is presence because when we feel gratitude for being, we don't need to know all the answers because we accept they are beyond our human conception for a reason — a 'knowing' trust that our soul is sovereign and will guide us through this experience, the gift of a life on Mother Earth. Just wow, isn't it. 🥰
i grew up learning about the Green Man from my Irish grandmother but your words come from the Green Woman aligned with the rhythms of nature. The photo of you by the tree is so lovely. I have a tall oak tree outside my third floor window along the Hudson River in New York. I refer to her as a Grandmother as not only hawks come to sit alight before soaring high, but all sorts of birds, large and small, squirrels and even a wasp nest. All form the changing world outside my window. Sending you blessings from my corner of September with gratitude for your beautiful words. ❤️
Cathleen, thank you so much for seeing me so clearly, and for naming the Green Woman in my voice. That recognition thrills me more than I can say! I grew up with whispers of the Green Man too, but it’s those Deep Feminine rhythms ... the rooted, spiralling, sheltering ones ... that have been singing through me lately. Again, thank you for seeing, feeling me.
I love picturing your Grandmother Oak, standing sentinel by the Hudson, gathering hawks and wasps and all the winged ones into her changing cloak. What a sacred window on the world you have. Thank you for sharing your rich corner of September with me ... it feels like a circle has been drawn, leaf to leaf, heart to heart. I feel the warmth of your heart. 🙏🧡🍂
This poem is magnificent -- I love the cadence, the imagery, the beauty of it all. Where I live in the United States, specifically, Illinois, the hot summer has started giving way to autumn, and I am reveling in the cooler weather and looking forward to when the air turns crisp. I also love all the wonderful fall foods.
Your poem is a gift to your readers. And Lin's photo is simply beautiful.
Oh Beth, you're very kind! Thanks so much for sharing the warmth of your heart. I love imagining that shift in Illinois too ... that gentle surrender from heat to crispness, and all the deliciousness that comes with it.
I’m delighted that 'September' speaks to you and I’ll pass your lovely compliment on to Lin ... she’ll be quietly touched I know. Sending you much love and warmth across this turning season. 🙏🧡🍂
This is a gorgeous piece, as usual. I resonate with your connection to the months and the seasons.
I love to read people's work, but I also love it when it's available to listen to because I have issues with my eyes on the screen and have minimal time. Did I miss it, or do you not have an audio option?
I never wanna miss a beautiful piece of your writing life.
Check in your settings and you can choose the voice. Someone showed me a while ago. I do not think number of subscribers matter. I am told more people will listen. Who knows? Love you.
The temple of woods, tree-wisdom and the energy of change, underscore September's longing. Your seasonal pilgrimage inspires me to be the observer; to capture images and sensual sensations of autumn with my heart; with a camera; a friend; with words painted the color of a darkening green that is letting go. This poem is an invitation to get quiet with the grandmother oaks, nap under her limbs and listen to the lullaby of hope and generosity of spirit. Deborah, you inspire me to rise to a greater spirit of generosity, a tree in the stand of those that shelter and gift. . .
Dear Stephanie, thanks so much for the gift of your truly beautiful reply which has arrived in the shape of a poem itself! Starting on New Years' Day I visited the woods most weeks that year in devotion ... in order to help me understand the seasons in a much deeper way.
Oh, I’m deeply moved by your image of the Grandmother Oaks and the lullaby of hope; it’s exactly how September sings to me. If I’ve offered shelter or shade through my words, it’s only because I’ve been held by so many tree elders myself ... your voice now among them. 🙏💖🌳
May our silvering years be a choir of trees with whom we sing messages of generosity. Thank you for your beautiful poetry. I'm so lucky to have found you and your work.
Wow! That’s such a generous blessing, thank you so much. I'm deeply honoured to be part of your forest of voices ... where each leaf carries a kindness and each root remembers. 🙏💖🌳
A beautiful September poem. Isn't it astonishing, how the weather can suddenly change, from one day to the next as August departs and September begins? As if the winds and temperatures knew (perhaps the swallows' murmurings have something to do with it) ...
Indeed, how quickly it all changes. How swallows murmur like memory itself, threading the air with their farewell songs ... guiding Mabon's winds into September’s arms. Thanks so much, Veronika, for your rich reply and deepening autumn's seasonal spell. 🙏🍂🧡
You’re not alone in feeling this, Stephanie. For so many have spoken of a strange poignancy this year, as if autumn itself is leaning in closer, asking us to listen with our whole hearts. 🙏🍂💖
It's the month of ripening in my world, especially in the nearby vineyards and orchards. The hummingbirds are leaving for their migration--and the Monarchs, too. Six caterpillars remain in my back porch nursery, plump and hungry as they devour the milkweed bouquets. It won't be long before they're all chrysalises. I watch them as they slither and crawl through the plants they love and wait for them to attach to a milkweed branch or the roof of their crate where they create their teardrop shape chrysalis. I hear the geese overhead and the ducks down at the lake. Everyone is preparing for the next step. It's truly Mabon. Thank you for this beautiful poem of remembrance of the season. Sending you autumn love.
Dear Elaine, your beautiful, poetic words are a harvest in themselves! So full of ripening, migration and quiet transformation. I can just imagine those plump Monarch caterpillars, the milkweed bouquets, the geese overhead and the ducks down at the lake. Everything preparing for the next step.
It’s truly Mabon, as you say ... a time of turning, of letting go, of deep remembering.
And speaking of thresholds, tomorrow marks a beautiful one for you. Lin and I are holding you close in our hearts as you step into your 80th year. What a radiant spiral you’ve walked and continue to walk with such grace, curiosity and love.
Sending much love, light and birthday blessings wrapped in golden leaves, Monarch wings and the hush of milkweed. May this next chapter open gently, like a chrysalis finding its soulful shape. 🍂🧡🦋🧡🍂🦋🧡🍂
Thanks so much, Caroline, for the autumnal warmth of your words. As I read your exquisite poem 'Blackberries' a couple of days ago, I found myself thinking ... ah, yes 'September' and promptly dug this one out. Thanks so much for the gentle nudge.
I know you say that you’re not quite sure about autumn this year, but I trust it’ll find you in its own way. Sometimes the season arrives not all at once, but in small offerings ... a shift in light, a scent in the air, a poem that remembers. 🧡🍂✒️
Your words really evoke that still warm, mellow fruitfulness of the season, tinged with melancholic hints of the the darkness to come, yet always held in the comforting embrace of Mother. Thank you for your words (and Lin's great photo!).
Aww, many thanks Ralph, you’ve been missed! My pen and Lin's camera are good friends. I’ve just remembered ... I was posing barefoot that day until a small snake slithered toward the oak tree and I quickly had to slip my trainers back on. Luckily, Lin had already bagged this one. 🙏🌳🥾🐍
It was small and green and slithering! Lol, I was screaming too much at the time to take a proper look! As Lin took the cover photo on 31st August that year, past adders mating season (usually April) I think you're right it could've been a young one. Next time, I'll just hiss! 🤍🐍🧙♀️
Thank you for sharing this beautiful offering to the bounty of harvest season and to this transition between summer and autumn that holds so much wildness and magic. Love the cover image too - the span of the branches, their separation into more and more branches seemingly infinite overhead.
Thanks so much, Sarah. Following one of our many lovely chats last week, I thought I'd share a poem from my 'Poetry of the Year' series. November was my favourite and a dear friend created a video for it too. I've passed on your kind words to Lin re the cover photo.
That's me, stood beside one of my beloved tree elders. I heart this guardian oak with all my being. During lockdown, the year I self-published my second poetry book, we didn't visit for months. When I finally returned and saw Her again, I burst into happy tears. 🌳🥹
I see people in many places turning to the idea of the liturgical year. Your monthly practice, example, deserves wide adoption! September for me, and it gets stronger the further north, when the days shorten faster a gale is blowing us to Equinox; the yearly 3 day precision is always breath-taking. I will be think again of the geese returning to their fields, as I wrote long ago, 'like party-goers on the darkening air'. It will be welcome home again.
PS. Jungian thought has coincided thrice in posts and comment I have skimmed this morning. Too fast for my ole (smile) thinking! You have sent me back to the story, at least in its outline, of Mabon ap Modron, but that is for another time.
Oh, I’m so moved by your reflections on the liturgical year, Philip! Thank you so much. I feel that gale too, even down south, rushing toward Equinox, where the light tips and “the geese return like party-goers on the darkening air” ... lots of deep poetic swooning here!
My year in the woods began on New Year's Day and I visited at least two or three times a month throughout 2018. That practice taught me so much about the rhythms and cycles of nature ... most especially how the body knows what the calendar forgets. In short, it changed my life as I could finally, finally come to know the seasons in such a deep way.
Yes! I wholeheartedly agree: this deserves wider adoption, not as doctrine but as devotion.
And Mabon ap Modron! Yes, yes, the child stolen and restored ... the hidden one whose return marks the turning. I’ve been circling his story too. Hmm, perhaps he’s the one whispering through all these Jungian threads. Yes, let’s return to him soon.
For now, I send you rich September blessings, gale-borne and goose-winged! 🙏🪿🍃
Thank you Deborah. Tree talk is restorative.
It truly is, Philip ... like leaning into a green silence that remembers more than we do. In pure synchronicity, I'm in dialogue with a tree as we speak. More next week. 🌳✒️💚
“In this season of fruiting ripeness,
may we manifest abundance”
Wishing you a wonderful September Green Witch ! Keep talking to those trees and sending out magic. Keep writing. Please. Soul poet. 🧡
Aww, many thanks Dear Poet! Like so many, I ab-soul-utely love this time of the year. 'November' is my favourite poem from my year in the woods. As I shared with Sarah, a dear friend, Canadian, as it happens, very kindly created a video to go with it. Here's the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0bxtCCbGtvk uploaded by Philosopher Muse five years ago. I hope you enjoy, it's just under two minutes long.
Gawd, talking to the tree this week has me reaching for my 'mad poet' t-shirt ... as it's all going a bit all over the place! What began as a poem now feels like ... well, I don't know what! But it's alive, and that's something. Poets eh?! 🙏💖🧙♀️🍂
Now that sounds Canadian eh! That’s our favourite sound here. “Eh!”
I can’t wait to see where the poeting ends up ! Autumn madness calls the hedges of the edges of sanity! 🧡
Lol, 'the hedges of the edges of sanity'! Yep, that's where I am. 🧡
I’ll meet you there eh!
😁💖🍂🙏
Thank you for reminding me of this wonderful poem about my favorite season. It makes the changes occurring so much more meaningful. Here in Central Florida we've had a marked drop in temperature over the last week and cooling showers and breezes every evening. We await the return of wood ducks for a possible second brood. Many have been born in the cypress swamp behind our house in early October. For us, September is a time when death and new life meet for a brief moment in the cycle. Jeanie
Dear Jeanie, I just love how you describe September as the meeting place of death and new life. That brief moment in the turning of the Wheel feels especially poignant this year.
Here in the UK, the skies are busy with flocks of birds ... some arriving, some leaving ... as if they’re all making a mad dash before the windstorms and rainstorms begin. It’s a wonder to watch, Lin's forever reaching for her binoculars. I’m not complaining though as we need the rain ... desperately. It’s been a hot summer and my garden still wears the scorch of it.
Sending much love, light and laughter across the oceans between us and deep gratitude for your beautiful reflections. May the blessed wood ducks return and may the cypress swamp cradle new life once more. May it be so. 🧡🙏🍂
Hi Deborah,
As you know, I have a copy of this beautiful compilation of your poetry. Of course your September is our March — so I had to read that one too, for us down South. 😊🙏🤣. The daffodils have sprung.
Have a great day 💚
Simone, thank you so much for reading and for carrying my September into your March! I love imagining your southern spring daffodils rising just as our northern autumn leaves fall.
What a beautiful inversion of the seasons and such a tender echo of shared rhythms. How wondrous, to live in a world where both seasonal events are happening at the same time. 🙏💛🍂
It's pretty amazing — a master design this planet 💛. The daffodils in gardens everywhere and once we hit the country roads, golden wattle everywhere. I do love Spring 💚. Off for an icy embrace this morning. 🌊. Hope you had.a great day.
You've hit the nail on the head, Simone! For I love, love, love how our Planet Blue holds opposites so gracefully ... spring and autumn, summer and winter, light and shadow ... ebb and surge. It’s not just poetic, it’s profoundly wise.
Mother Earth doesn’t resolve duality ... never, She includes it. And maybe that’s the solution we’ve been searching for all along! Not just in ourselves, but in the planet too. I mean the answer's right there, staring us in the face ... and still, somehow, it's easier to judge than to embrace. 🌏🌊🫂
Yes, I think she teaches us to accept duality, we need not use it for manipulation and conflict — she shows us how to accept, release and recover; though she is multidimensional too — and has her collaborators and team about her; look at her union with her moon and cosmic galaxies. and what of her elementals that we can feel. We have some power that we don't know we have — what would I know 🤣 ... what ever it is, it is divine, and in us. Anyway, I was blown about today and tangled with the water sprites on the boogie board — too windy and rough for me to surf. Have a great day 🌊🙏🧚🤍
Oh, Simone how your words shimmer and shine with deep elemental truth! And when I look through those larger eyes that you’ve evoked here ... I can see just how breathtakingly beautiful this world really is!
I mean it's just magickal ... how everything moves in harmony, even the chaos, even the windstorms that tangle with Crone fairies! Just for a moment, I’m held in awe, wonder, beauty and deep gratitude for it all. 🙏🌊🧚♀️
🤣🌊🌀🧚🙏 ... the Crone Fairy copped it 🙌 ... it is so magickal, and yes, gratitude really is presence because when we feel gratitude for being, we don't need to know all the answers because we accept they are beyond our human conception for a reason — a 'knowing' trust that our soul is sovereign and will guide us through this experience, the gift of a life on Mother Earth. Just wow, isn't it. 🥰
i grew up learning about the Green Man from my Irish grandmother but your words come from the Green Woman aligned with the rhythms of nature. The photo of you by the tree is so lovely. I have a tall oak tree outside my third floor window along the Hudson River in New York. I refer to her as a Grandmother as not only hawks come to sit alight before soaring high, but all sorts of birds, large and small, squirrels and even a wasp nest. All form the changing world outside my window. Sending you blessings from my corner of September with gratitude for your beautiful words. ❤️
Cathleen, thank you so much for seeing me so clearly, and for naming the Green Woman in my voice. That recognition thrills me more than I can say! I grew up with whispers of the Green Man too, but it’s those Deep Feminine rhythms ... the rooted, spiralling, sheltering ones ... that have been singing through me lately. Again, thank you for seeing, feeling me.
I love picturing your Grandmother Oak, standing sentinel by the Hudson, gathering hawks and wasps and all the winged ones into her changing cloak. What a sacred window on the world you have. Thank you for sharing your rich corner of September with me ... it feels like a circle has been drawn, leaf to leaf, heart to heart. I feel the warmth of your heart. 🙏🧡🍂
Deborah,
This poem is magnificent -- I love the cadence, the imagery, the beauty of it all. Where I live in the United States, specifically, Illinois, the hot summer has started giving way to autumn, and I am reveling in the cooler weather and looking forward to when the air turns crisp. I also love all the wonderful fall foods.
Your poem is a gift to your readers. And Lin's photo is simply beautiful.
Oh Beth, you're very kind! Thanks so much for sharing the warmth of your heart. I love imagining that shift in Illinois too ... that gentle surrender from heat to crispness, and all the deliciousness that comes with it.
I’m delighted that 'September' speaks to you and I’ll pass your lovely compliment on to Lin ... she’ll be quietly touched I know. Sending you much love and warmth across this turning season. 🙏🧡🍂
Hi dear Deborah,
This is a gorgeous piece, as usual. I resonate with your connection to the months and the seasons.
I love to read people's work, but I also love it when it's available to listen to because I have issues with my eyes on the screen and have minimal time. Did I miss it, or do you not have an audio option?
I never wanna miss a beautiful piece of your writing life.
Much love,
Prajna
Aww, thanks so much, dear Prajna, for your beautiful, heartfelt reply! Like so many others, I do love it when the Wheel of the Year turns to autumn.
Oh, I'm not sure about audio, hmm, I've never seen one on my newsletter. Perhaps it's only available if you have a certain number of subscribers?
Love and blessings 🙏💖🍂
Check in your settings and you can choose the voice. Someone showed me a while ago. I do not think number of subscribers matter. I am told more people will listen. Who knows? Love you.
Oh, I rarely look there. Thanks for letting me know, Prajna. Audio might be fun. Watch this space! 😊🎙️
Echo this request, as can get to posts with audio first, and intimacy of voice makes writer feel closer!
Hmm, I’m still circling the idea. Watch this space. 😊🎙️
The temple of woods, tree-wisdom and the energy of change, underscore September's longing. Your seasonal pilgrimage inspires me to be the observer; to capture images and sensual sensations of autumn with my heart; with a camera; a friend; with words painted the color of a darkening green that is letting go. This poem is an invitation to get quiet with the grandmother oaks, nap under her limbs and listen to the lullaby of hope and generosity of spirit. Deborah, you inspire me to rise to a greater spirit of generosity, a tree in the stand of those that shelter and gift. . .
Dear Stephanie, thanks so much for the gift of your truly beautiful reply which has arrived in the shape of a poem itself! Starting on New Years' Day I visited the woods most weeks that year in devotion ... in order to help me understand the seasons in a much deeper way.
Oh, I’m deeply moved by your image of the Grandmother Oaks and the lullaby of hope; it’s exactly how September sings to me. If I’ve offered shelter or shade through my words, it’s only because I’ve been held by so many tree elders myself ... your voice now among them. 🙏💖🌳
May our silvering years be a choir of trees with whom we sing messages of generosity. Thank you for your beautiful poetry. I'm so lucky to have found you and your work.
Wow! That’s such a generous blessing, thank you so much. I'm deeply honoured to be part of your forest of voices ... where each leaf carries a kindness and each root remembers. 🙏💖🌳
I will hold this in my heart and mind today: "where each leaf carries a kindness and each root remembers. 🙏💖🌳"
A beautiful September poem. Isn't it astonishing, how the weather can suddenly change, from one day to the next as August departs and September begins? As if the winds and temperatures knew (perhaps the swallows' murmurings have something to do with it) ...
Indeed, how quickly it all changes. How swallows murmur like memory itself, threading the air with their farewell songs ... guiding Mabon's winds into September’s arms. Thanks so much, Veronika, for your rich reply and deepening autumn's seasonal spell. 🙏🍂🧡
This change of seasons feels so poignant to me this year, perhaps more than it ever has, and you captured the beauty of it perfectly. Thank you! 🍂
You’re not alone in feeling this, Stephanie. For so many have spoken of a strange poignancy this year, as if autumn itself is leaning in closer, asking us to listen with our whole hearts. 🙏🍂💖
How interesting, Deborah!!! 🙏🍂💖
🙏🍂💖
It's the month of ripening in my world, especially in the nearby vineyards and orchards. The hummingbirds are leaving for their migration--and the Monarchs, too. Six caterpillars remain in my back porch nursery, plump and hungry as they devour the milkweed bouquets. It won't be long before they're all chrysalises. I watch them as they slither and crawl through the plants they love and wait for them to attach to a milkweed branch or the roof of their crate where they create their teardrop shape chrysalis. I hear the geese overhead and the ducks down at the lake. Everyone is preparing for the next step. It's truly Mabon. Thank you for this beautiful poem of remembrance of the season. Sending you autumn love.
Dear Elaine, your beautiful, poetic words are a harvest in themselves! So full of ripening, migration and quiet transformation. I can just imagine those plump Monarch caterpillars, the milkweed bouquets, the geese overhead and the ducks down at the lake. Everything preparing for the next step.
It’s truly Mabon, as you say ... a time of turning, of letting go, of deep remembering.
And speaking of thresholds, tomorrow marks a beautiful one for you. Lin and I are holding you close in our hearts as you step into your 80th year. What a radiant spiral you’ve walked and continue to walk with such grace, curiosity and love.
Sending much love, light and birthday blessings wrapped in golden leaves, Monarch wings and the hush of milkweed. May this next chapter open gently, like a chrysalis finding its soulful shape. 🍂🧡🦋🧡🍂🦋🧡🍂
A perfect September poem. It's my favourite time of year, usually, although I'm not sure about this year... yet 💗
Thanks so much, Caroline, for the autumnal warmth of your words. As I read your exquisite poem 'Blackberries' a couple of days ago, I found myself thinking ... ah, yes 'September' and promptly dug this one out. Thanks so much for the gentle nudge.
I know you say that you’re not quite sure about autumn this year, but I trust it’ll find you in its own way. Sometimes the season arrives not all at once, but in small offerings ... a shift in light, a scent in the air, a poem that remembers. 🧡🍂✒️
Your words really evoke that still warm, mellow fruitfulness of the season, tinged with melancholic hints of the the darkness to come, yet always held in the comforting embrace of Mother. Thank you for your words (and Lin's great photo!).
Aww, many thanks Ralph, you’ve been missed! My pen and Lin's camera are good friends. I’ve just remembered ... I was posing barefoot that day until a small snake slithered toward the oak tree and I quickly had to slip my trainers back on. Luckily, Lin had already bagged this one. 🙏🌳🥾🐍
Aw, kind of you to say, Deborah 🤍. Sounds like you had a near miss, there. I'm guessing it was a young adder?
It was small and green and slithering! Lol, I was screaming too much at the time to take a proper look! As Lin took the cover photo on 31st August that year, past adders mating season (usually April) I think you're right it could've been a young one. Next time, I'll just hiss! 🤍🐍🧙♀️
😅
Beautiful. My favourite time of year.
Thanks so much, Muriel. Autumn always feels like soul descent ... leaves falling, psyche shedding, roots deepening. The unconscious stirs. 🙏🍂
Thank you for sharing this beautiful offering to the bounty of harvest season and to this transition between summer and autumn that holds so much wildness and magic. Love the cover image too - the span of the branches, their separation into more and more branches seemingly infinite overhead.
Thanks so much, Sarah. Following one of our many lovely chats last week, I thought I'd share a poem from my 'Poetry of the Year' series. November was my favourite and a dear friend created a video for it too. I've passed on your kind words to Lin re the cover photo.
That's me, stood beside one of my beloved tree elders. I heart this guardian oak with all my being. During lockdown, the year I self-published my second poetry book, we didn't visit for months. When I finally returned and saw Her again, I burst into happy tears. 🌳🥹
Aww what a lovely reunion. Trees carry such a wise and sacred energy.
I know, I know! Thanks so much, Sarah. As I shared with Philip, I'm in dialogue with one such tree today. More next week. 🌳🙏💚
Your 'September' is positively gorgeous!
Aww, that’s lovely! Thanks so much, Julie. 🙏💖🌳