Just outside my front door, ice sparkles on the small brown bridge. I know the signs: autumn fled like a thief in the night. Only yesterday, leaves blazing scarlet and saffron hung like Christmas baubles on the trees. Now there’s nothing but a memory of those exquisite jewels. Time to burrow and savor the stews and the soups, flanked with chunks of wholemeal bread and the sweet preserves of summer.
Marking the passage of autumn, the season rich in ritual and symbolism, pagan Samhain, Catholic All Saints and All Souls, linking today to a nature-rich past, a time when light dimmed and night surrendered to darkness, when stars sparkled more brightly, when candles guided the way to the bed and not the TV screen. A different and harder rhythm, yes. When survival meant knowing, truly knowing, how to live on the earth.
© 2013 C. Bertelsen, including all photographs.