Equinox looming
It’s been pretty hot the last few days, which these past few years has seemed to be the norm for mid September. Despite the fact that the autumnal equinox is just days away, temperatures have been in the high 80s. I went for a swim yesterday morning after a run around the neighborhood, and there’s not even a hint of frost in the forecast. But the shift is coming—you can feel it in the breeze that’s keeping the deck’s wind chime singing at all hours of the day and the way the evening air attaches itself to your legs as you walk through the low parts of the fields. The moon hangs low over the lake on these last days of summer, coming into fullness just in time to wane as the equinox descends.
There are changes looming—for me personally, for the community, for the country, for the world. This is always the case, of course, as change is life’s one constant, but it feels more pronounced lately, especially after eight months of job searching, as war continues, as the rich get richer, as the distance between thought islands become more and more vast.1 And election years always feel more charged, especially as politics get increasingly polarized. I hope for life-giving change to be part of all of this, even while I brace myself for that which isn’t. I’m trying to stay grounded in what is instead of getting stuck inside the what ifs and the maybes. Despair and worry and anxiety are all valid feelings, but they aren’t the ones I want to make my home within.
Which calls to mind this passage from Collisions of Earth and Sky, written several ‘cusp of autumns’ ago, but a good reminder of where I want my energy to be going during this looming season of shift.
One autumnal equinox evening, I went out to sit on the swing overlooking the garden. At 6:30 p.m., the sun was just starting to cast long shadows on the field, full of wilting and withering plants as cooler weather closed in. Cars zoomed by now and then, and the breeze rus- tled the aspens. The air was humming with cricket and birdsong, a timeless, age-old chorus of living sound. The apples were golden orbs in the late light, each one a tiny package of edible astonishment. Ripened fruit is dazzling in the way only ripening fruit can be, so I was glad I’d remembered to notice it; plenty of days I forget to be still and get sucked into the busyness of the day. That evening there was a stillness in the air, even as lawnmowers buzzed and people scurried about on their way home after a busy weekday. I was thankful to be there in the garden, witnessing the season shift, making a practice out of being dazzled. Making a practice out of remembering the part of myself that is part of earth’s body, that needs wildness to thrive. I wondered who else might have been practicing the same, that very minute, across the globe. Surely there were plenty of others remembering.
Then the old orange rotary phone2 rang in the garage, and I thought for a second about going to check to see who was calling. There always seem to be many reasons to move when you are trying to be still. My attention drifted to a low growling coming from beyond the aspens where a motorcyclist was putting along well below their usual choice of speed on this road. I wondered why they were moving so slow. I thought maybe they, too, were making a practice of being dazzled in the fading light. There was bread baking in the oven that evening, so I needed to go back to the house to take it out. Yet I found I wanted to linger, to simply watch the grass host these long shadows. To witness the flip, the turning of summer to fall. To be one small part of the great wheel, the one that will keep turning long after I am gone from this place. I wanted to meld the moment to memory, to invite it to be part of me, just like I was part of it.
What keeps you grounded when you have to navigate change? How can you show up during this upcoming seasonal change ready to use the shift in balance to move toward what feels right? What practices remind you who you are?
Event notes:
Saturday, September 21, I’ll be at the Marine Mills Folks School Fall Festival from 10am to 4pm with books and some poetry activities. I think this is my fourth year at this event, and it’s always a good time. 50+ artists will be there demonstrating and selling their craft, there are activities for kids, sheep dog herding demos, and music.
I’m generalizing here, clearly.
Orange phone update: it’s no longer in the garage as we had a different line put in the house, and the old one doesn’t work anymore. So now it’s in my office.