A new poem and musings on a day in the “Little Summer”
Autumn enters on golden rays of sun and
fills the house with the promise of pies and
long lazy evenings with a good book.
In some systems, there are five seasons: Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer and the Little Summer — or the Second Summer. It is a time of promise and activity.
The promise of a time of rest, yet time still to finish the last of the gardening, the housecleaning, the shopping.
The promise that all things come to an end — easy times as well as terrifying will cycle through and die, as the grain browns in the fields, as the child becomes an adult and the adult becomes a corpse.
And we remember…
As we remember the sun and the heat, the dry and the growth of the First Summer we also look forward to the dark, the cold, the wet and the silence of the season to come.
We celebrate the times of abundance, we bring in the harvest and we prepare for the time when hearth and home are our refuge, our haven against that storm outside.
The seasons change, the stars roll along in the heavens, and we know… this too shall pass.