Slow

Though the summer lasted well into October - an aberration this far north - fall has finally, and suddenly arrived. When I wake what's left of the dry grass sparkles with light frost. The wind has a bite to it.
And the dark has come.

No longer do I wake to the sun, but instead must force myself out of warm blankets and into the day. My body wants to remain curled, conserving energy, instinctively wanting to protect itself against the oncoming winter.

While Minnesota winters usually last long enough to make one's bones ache, I still enjoy the shifting seasons. My body's reactions to cooling temperatures and brief daylight reminds me that I'm connected to the earth and its cycles.

As Samhain (Halloween) approaches it reminds me to prepare for the dark and the cold. To contemplate and act with measure.

Last Sunday I planted bulbs that in the spring, I hope, will offer beautiful blossoms. Even as winter approaches, the hope of spring and returning warmth remain present.
Wishing you a blessed autumn.

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

December 21: the shortest day of the year, the longest night.

In the northern reaches of the country that I call home, it's a frequent complaint that the long hours of darkness weigh heavily on us. Dark before work, dark coming home. Shadows dog our steps and send us scurrying to bed at hours that feel much too early.

I'd like to suggest that the Winter Solstice, rather than haunting us, offers a vital clue to our existence. Though welcome, light, sun, energy drive us on relentlessly, push us into our busy lives, our too-full days.

The dark is a call to retreat from the world. We tuck into our houses, curl up in heavy blankets. We long to sleep and the darkness calls us to our beds.
The long night isn't something to fear. We rarely take the time to be still, to recuperate, to rest. Perhaps Mother Nature is doing us a favor by wrapping us in night, forcing us to step away from the frenetic pace of life and slumber. Dreaming sweet dreams, becoming anew.